An Eventful Year

I'm not really one to get reflective around the holidays...I usually do that on the High Holy Days. But what I can tell you, with 7 more school days until our much-needed winter break, is that this year has been one of the most eventful in my life. It started out with me trying to make things work at Vh1, with little success (no thanks to the nasty, vindictive women I worked with...that, by an ironic twist of fate, led them both to quit before me)...and I didn't know what I wanted to do next month, let alone in five years.

I didn't apply for the Fellows on a whim. It was something I'd thought about a few times and always said, "Later." Somehow "later" became "why not now?" One weekend my mother came over to my apt and we revised my essay and I handed it in. I got selected for an interview in March. Two days before the interview, I lost my grandmother. I rescheduled, sure I was dooming myself to losing out on the program if I did so. I walked to a school in Union Square early on a Saturday morning in a black pants suit, wearing black shoes and barely keeping from slipping on the ice. I gave a good performance. That's what it was, a performance. I had no idea how a teacher prepared or taught a lesson. So I did what I thought a teacher would do.

My parents were in London when I got the acceptance email in April. I was excited, scared and everything in between. It took me awhile to accept because I had to figure out how I would survive the summer on just a stipend. It also happened that I inherited money from my Grandmother. It's weird to think that she would be proud of me if she was here, but I wouldn't have been able to do this without the money she left me.

I quit my job. My new boss tried to make me stay. I cried after I quit. I was scared that I had made the wrong decision and scared that I'd made the right one, scared that I had just wasted 3 years of my life doing something I had never cared about. Scared that now I knew what I wanted to do. I went to the welcoming event at Lincoln Center. I love Lincoln Center and I get excited to go there for any reason. So I went there that Monday and watched the show that was prepared for us. I remembered my earlier school visits and thinking, "Can I really do this?"

LIU, training, heated discussions about race, disability, you name it. Everyone in the program is so smart and has so many opinions that we're all anxious to have them heard. Summer school was a dose of reality but I felt lucky to be working with another fellow, Johanna, that I ended up getting along with. Training was like camp, we all got close in a really short period of time...and now we don't see half those people anymore.

The fear of not getting a job was overwhelming as training ended. People have told me that they had many offers...I didn't. I had one offer. That was all I needed. I am now working in my 12:1:1 class with unruly 6th and 7th graders and trying to make them stop trying to kill each other long enough to teach them something. I've come a long way, but I've only just started. I feel a direction that I didn't before. I know that when I finish LIU that I want to finish my history major and take arts education classes. Even if I'm not in front of a class all the time, I know this is where I belong.

A Stuff Person

So my book club and I read this book called the Mole People by Jennifer Toth which details the author's experiences talking with and getting stories from the homeless that live in the tunnels under New York City.

Whenever I read something like that or watch something, like Morgan Spurlock's 30 Days episode where he and his fiance lived on minimum wage for a month, I stop and look around myself, at all the things I have. These people are just trying to survive one way or the other. They take what they can get. I expect, in fact, feel entitled to the apt I live in, in a good neighborhood. I have collections, like my books and movies which I take for granted. I take guitar lessons and belong to the gym and have cable. These people have nothing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not planning on giving these things up. Those are the things I spend my money on just as the people who live in tunnels spend their money on what they choose when they have it. But I wonder how certain things happen to certain people. I do think the author was naive in her research. She ended up finishing because of a couple different incidents that happened in the tunnels.

The people who live in the tunnels are a different from, say, starving artists...starving artists choose that life....in a lot of cases it seemed like homelessness chose them. I couldn't imagine living that kind of life, what it does to you, how it makes you feel and behave. I would never want to.

Without you, the ground thaws...

You know, Jonathan's words can be just so profound sometimes.

Yesterday I had to do something really hard. I had to say Yizkor for my Grandmother for the first time. On Yom Kippur, we have a memorial service where we say prayers or meditate on our lost loved ones.

It was hard because it's still weird to think of her as not here with us. I wear her diamond ring, the ring that she always wore and she held my hand with thousands of times. I remember when we lost my aunt, I went in to see the casket and Grandma came with me and she was quite upset. Things like that always took her back to losing my grandfather.

It's so ironic too because she would have been totally behind my joining the Teaching Fellowship, but without the money she left me, I would not have been able to do it. So I like to think she helped me through it, somehow.

She used to drive us nuts, but in the end we knew it was because she loved us and we loved her. The world seems smaller now that I have one less person around that loves me.

But as always, life goes on. We change careers, me fall in love, we get puppies and have babies...and wonder what the reactions would be of the people who aren't here with us.

1 Week Down...

"The first year is the hardest."

"A lot of teachers drink."

"You feel like a failure."

"I used to go home and cry everyday."

"You have good days and bad days."

Well, there you have it. One week down, many more to go. The first three days were ok. Today, not so much. I could not get my students to do anything. I felt completely helpless and I didn't know what to do. I was having a "what am I doing here" sort of morning.

It started out ok enough, I got them to do a couple things but by the time we got to Math class, they were out of control and nothing I did or said could change that. I felt ineffectual and in experienced...both of which I was right at that moment. I wa snot sure how to combat it. The boys could tell and of course took advantage.

I gave a couple of different assignments and asked them to hand them in. On both accounts, I received only three. During lunch, I kinda lost it, at least while I was on my own but then I looked for a fellow teacher to ask him something and he saw me upset (mostly because he asked if I was upset and then I lost again and I felt like a moron. I don't like being upset in front of people, least of all, people I don't know well.)

At least toward the end of the day I had a debriefing session with two other teachers and I found they were in the same boat, frustration-wise as myself. But the question still remains, what to do about it? I don't remember anyone behaving in my schools the way these kids behave in class. Maybe because I was in a suburban school. Maybe because I was in some of the honors classes. Who knows?

I wouldn't go back to sitting behind a desk. But can I become the person these kids need me to become in order for all of us to succeed? We'll see.

"Everyone Knows Who Those Kids Are"

I finally found a position at a school in Crown Heights, Brooklyn - one of the few places you'll probably see Chasidim and African Americans in the same neighborhood...I will be teaching a self-contained 7th grade class...I saw my classroom a couple days ago and reality began to sink in. At least I haven't started to panic - not yet. Not when I looked on my list and saw most of my students are boys...or when another teacher mused "everyone knows who those kids are" - something I'm not a terribly big fan of; I'd rather not go into class the first day with the preconception that all these kids are bad.

I feel like I'm in a stolen season of a couple weeks, where anything is possible, before we all show up the first day of school and I may or may not still believe that. It's like the time between getting asked out and actually going on the date - you play out all scenarios in your head of what could happen and hope for the best. I may sounds idealistic, but I don't think you could become a Fellow without some idealism.

Now that I'm part of a bona fide staff and know where I'm going to be, I can enjoy my stolen season and see where this path takes me.

Almost There

Four more days. In four days, the first phase of journey that I have embarked upon will close and the next will open, leaving me as terrified as ever. And as exhilerated. I am working harder now than I ever worked at Fox or MTVN, and I'm fine with it. I want to do it. I have a job to do.

I have this paper to write about my personal perspective on disability and I am delaying writing it. I am delaying it because all the knowledge I've gained in the past 7 weeks is difficult to sum up, but also because...there's just so much more to know.

And I know this sounds like I'm making it about me when it's about the students. The students I've already met, and the ones that I will meet in September and the September after that. I have to square my shoulders for the burden of being a leader to these students, some of which might not know how to read and write.

We spoke about our hopes early in the program, and I can honestly say that one hope i Have for my students is that they learn to love reading and writing as much as I do, even if I have to read every book to them. I hope that they learn why the Constitution is important, how to add decimals and what a virus is. I hope that my efforts will not be in vain.

I was inspired when we went around the circle our first day in class, relating our previous lives and telling why we joined the program. We are all so different, but alike. I would not have crossed paths with these people had I not become a Fellow. I am thankful to be in a group of such passionate and incredibly smart individuals who have come together for a common purpose.


I haven't gotten to write much during training, about the experience or otherwise. But I feel as though the dam will break soon and i['m looking forward to it.

Awakening in Spring

When I saw Spring Awakening last month, I didn't immediately love it. I enjoyed it, but I thought the second act was ballad heavy and didn't rock hard enough and that the man story took too long to develop. I bought the CD soon after, and I can't stop listening to it. There is something in the music that keeps drawing me back - lyrics, voices, imagery - it's something different each time. And it's not even the same song that gets stuck in my head each time...it's usually different.

The show has since won several Tony's and thus increased in popularity and visibility, which it deserves. The cast is wonderful. And the story events, set in the repressed German society in the 1800s all goes back to the simple question "Where do babies come from?" The mother's point blank refusal to answer this simple question sets the plot in motion. How can a girl know if she's having sex if she doesn't know what sex is?

It's hard to fathom this in our culture. Children are learning about sex younger and younger and that's both good and bad. Wendla, the main female character in the play, did not know what she was doing. It's all there in the lyrics (which, by the way, are in present day vernacular). The imagery in the lyrics is beautiful, invoking the images of a blue angel seducing the boys.

The boys, Melchior - the one who is too smart for his own good and draws the wrath of his faceless elders by creating a sex manual, and Moritz, the suffering, school challenged one whose wild hairstyle is the manifestation of his inner termoil, are incredible characters. I felt most drawn to Moritz, especially in light of my recent studies, who expresses himself in electric-guitar highlighted songs and voices the confusion and frustration that many teens can identify with.

The most underdeveloped character that I found most interesting is Ilse, a girl who lives outside the society of the rest; a runaway who has more freedom than all of the rest put together. Ilse appears in the first act to sing a duet about being sexually abused but then offers Moritz an alternative to suffering at school, which he ultimately rejects.

The songs are sung as an interior monologue of the characters, with pulsing sexuality under their demure dresses and school uniforms. I would love to see the show again now that I know more about it and won't be looking for it to be something it's not. I have never seen a Broadway show more than once except for Rent (which is coming up again :oD)...but this one would be well worth the second look...as long as the original cast is still around.

The Next Chapter

So tomorrow I start work on my Masters degree in education with the New York Teaching Fellowship...Learning how to be a teacher in seven weeks seems like a daunting task, but it's been done, so why can't I do it?

When I walked out of my job for the last time on Thursday, I felt nothing. My nerves were somewhere in the back, ready to ignite and I can say with certainty that they have come to life. But at a that moment, when I walked out of corporate America, I felt empty. But without the knowledge that I had to come back. That was a relief. After the way I was treated there, I am was relieved that those people left and even more relieved to get out. My new boss was upset that I was leaving, but she realized it had nothing to do with her. There is nothing I will miss about being a research analyst. Nothing. The words always stuck in my throat when I was asked what I did. Now I will be able to say with condition: I'm a teacher.

Andrew's Interview

In which Andrew Saltman, a character of mine, gets interviewed about his big, new Broadway show:

I catch up with Andrew Saltman at a small diner in Soho. He sits across from me, all charm and poise but also quiet and unassuming; different from the last time we spoke but I suppose a starring role in a buzz-laden new musical would change any person. I met Andrew for the first time when he was playing Mark in Rent, his first Broadway role, when did a re-review of the show. He was in awe of it all, but he says he’s grown up since then. “It was a lot to live up to, you know? I grew up wanting to be Mark, but I could never be Anthony Rapp’s Mark. I had to inhabit the guy for myself.”

Since then, Andrew has won an Obie award for his portrayal of JT in Different a moving portrayal of a teen coming out and surviving against the odds. The play was produced by Andrew’s mentor Tom Gordon, who recently passed away. He’s tried to look at thing positively, drawing on the feelings of loss for his portrayal of Evan McCormack in Summer in the City. “It’s the story of a guy trying to make the most out of his life before he’s gone.” Andrew says of his role in the upcoming musical. The show’s story centers on Evan, a cubicle dweller who learns he has one more summer to live then goes out and makes the most of it. This vibrant musical had a sold out run at the New York Theatre Workshop this spring and opens on Broadway on June 10.

“It’s kind of a surreal experience.” Andrew says of the show. He auditioned for Jason Brown, the show’s auteur, in the early stages of the script and has been with the project ever since. “This show is Jason’s baby, but in a way it’s mine too and (his co-star) Brooke’s and we are all really passionate about being a part of it.” The show uses its poignant tale and weaves in rock music, Savion Glover-style tap and some Stomp- inspired shtick to make the show much more than it could have been. Andrew was game, he even learned how to tap dance a cappella for the show’s Act I closer. “I learned tap in high school, but I was never really good at it…this is different, it’s not supposed to be pretty. It’s me tapping out my feelings instead of singing.”

Andrew, not Drew ever or Andy to anyone except his closest friends, eats his eggs thoughtfully and asks how my food is. I smile and tell him it’s good and he smiles. “I like to come here to chill or to learn my lines.” he muses. When I ask him about his love life he fixes me with his bright blue stare and grins mischievously. “If I told you, then you’d know.” he says. Rumor has it that he is seeing a city politician which he neither confirms nor denies. He wags his finger at me “You know I’m not going to talk about that.” I had to ask, I tell him. He nods. “I don’t blame you for trying.”

Turning the conversation back to the show, I mention the buzz the show has been getting and how the show, Jason Brown and Andrew, in turn have all been dubbed Broadway’s next big thing at one point or another. “Do you all feel a lot of pressure?” I ask him. He answers thoughtfully, carefully measuring his words. “It’s best for us as performers to focus on the show and not let outside pressure seep in. The pressure we put on ourselves is something else entirely, since Jason wrote us beautiful songs, we want to do him and the show justice by being at our best.” Being the best takes a lot, Andrew acknowledges. He doesn’t stay out late or drink or do anything that might adversely affect his performance, but it’s worth it to him to have that discipline so he can perform to his own standard. “I’m hard on myself. I think all performers are and that’s where the pressure comes from.”

“Who do you hope will come opening night?” I ask him as we finish our brunch. Something flickers across his face that I can’t quite read and he says, “My family.” I don’t pursue the subject and we pay and leave. On the street, he is his exuberant self again, exclaiming over a dog that is tied up outside the diner. Andrew crouches to scratch his ears and then looks up at me. “I hope everyone comes opening night.” he says.

Myself at 80

One of the writing exercises I came across was how you thought you would be at 80:

At 80, I hope to be independent, lucid and content. I suppose at that age, I'd be a bit world-weary...not a constant yearning for the good old days, but slight sense of loss that things have changed and I have stayed the same. I hope to love and be loved, with a husband, children and grandchildren as a large part of my life. I also hope to be involved in community activites like at the Temple, and to continue to be curious about the world. I hope to have many friends and travel. I hope to be active, still visiting the gym regularly even if all I do is stretch and people will ask in disbelief, "How old are you?" And I will smile and tell them and they will be surprised.

I plan to spoil my grandchildren and spend time with them whenever possible. I will be a confidant to my children. I will continue to write journals, screenplays, whatever strikes my fancy. I will record the events of my own life as I do now and take pictures.

That is how I picture myself at 80.

Skeptic

So it's been a while since I've posted anything mostly because I joined this writing circle a few weeks ago and as part of the program, we're supposed to write "morning pages" everyday...So I've been a little tapped out when it comes to reflection these past few weeks.

The writing program is based on this book and the idea that we're 'blocked artists' and we have to recover our inner artist. The last chapter in the book was about affirmation and affirming that you're, in fact, an artist. I didn't really relate to this as I know I'm a writer; I don't need some book to tell me that. I'm a writer because I write...not necessarily because I make a living doing so, but right now, that's ok. I also don't know about being a 'blocked artist,' I don't necessarily see myse;f that way, either...However, in this week's chapter, the book talked about how being skeptical can inhibit your artistic impulses, and since I am a pretty skeptical person, I'd tend to agree. The book also encourages the idea that not all writing has to be 'good,' it just has to be 'writing'...that's the point of the free-writing.

I did free-writing in classes in college and never really got into it...but now I feel it's important to set aside 20 minutes a day to write, no matter what you write about. In fact, it doesn't have to be about anything...it just has to be writing.

I'm also not big on writing about writing, but soemtimes its helpful to find out what gets you going. So I'll go to the group tonight, with the goal reached of allotting time everyday for writing, even if it's song lyrics to fill up the 3rd page of my free-writing...As for being a blocked artist, I still don't know about that one...but I'll let you know if I get 'unblocked.'

Cormac's Letter

This was a writing excercise where we wrote a letter as character from a story. This is a letter from Cormac from Pete Hamill's Forever:

My dear son,

There is not a man alive that is older than your father. Unlike other men, in my case it's true. I was born in the 1700s in Ireland and I've made it here today, after everyone I've ever known has gone to the Otherworld.

You have my blood in you, the blood of the Celts, but alos of this city, that has been my home for over two hundred years. In you is the sweat that helped dig the subway you ride everyday. The grime under your fingernails is from the Revolution. Your drawings are mine and mine are yours. The food on the table was put there by Boss Tweed.

Aske me questions, my son. Ask for my story. You are the one I would tell it to. Ask about the ancient covenant of our people, who follow and avenge the murders of our fathers. As how I died and was reborn by otherwordly magic. Ask how I came to meet your mother, the woman I searched this granite island for for more years than Ic are to count.

After I leave for the Otherworld, take the sword that hangs on the wall and keep it always. Your grnadfather was a blacksmith in Ireland. He made it. I killed his murder with it. But you will be free of such a responsibilty since no man can kill me.

I saw Manhattan grow from a village into this city. I pulled your mother from the ashes of the towers. As me for my story, my son. It is the most valuable legacy I can give you.

Your father,
Cormac Samuel O'Connor

A Loss

It's so weird to lose someone you feel like you've already lost...though when my mother called me at 6:20 AM on Monday morning to tell me my grandmother passed, it was a surprise. It was a surprise and not a surprise, whoch is the weirdest thing...last I spoke to her, she was in too much pain to have a conversation and I hung up, promising I'd speak to her again soon.

That leads us to Monday morning and...yeah. But these last few month, she hadn't been the way I'd remember her...she was fragile and small and not at all the woman whose house I'd visit as a child or the woman who'd come to Israel only a few month before. She kept saying, "This isn't your grandmother." and as far as I was concerned, she knew what she was talking about...she didn't want to stay the way she was, she'd rather be gone...which we never liked hearing from her, but there it is.

If I had any doubt in my mind about the importance of the Jewish community, this experience has redoubled my belief in its importance. Whether it's congregants who don't really know us turning up for a shiva minyan or the Rabbi spending two hours with us, explaining the funeral procedure or the Sisterhood sending us a complete dinner, it's been really important through all of this.

We went to her place yesterday, but it was aplace she'd barely lived three weeks in and it didn't seem like it was hers. We took some of her things, and that was hard..but she's rather us have it instead of giving or throwing it away.

I will miss her.

Borrowed Time

It never fails...the build up to a vacation is heady and exciting, ripe with anticipation at the different things you are going to do and see, the cool food you'll get to eat and the fun things you'll buy.Then you return...and it's just over. Nothing more than those photos and souvenirs...a memory.


I made my first trip to Europe by myself last week to visit my sister in London. I had heard rave reviews of the city from various trusted friends and eargerly looked forward to my visit...so I went. I had an amazing time: theatre, culture, food, stores, museums, walking tours. If you ask what my favorite thing was, I probably would come back at you with a list because I can honestly say I loved almost every experience I had...though among the top would be the new Globe theatre tour, a pub walking tour, a Jack the Ripper walking tour and a day trip to Windsor castle, tea at Harrods (and that's not even half!)

Now I've returned and for the most part have gotten over my jet-lag...but the point is that I didn't want to leave...I was sad to leave. I felt like I was on borrowed time while I was there and it was just a matter of time before I got dropped back into my life here.

Don't get me wrong, I was only 'cheating' on New York, I have no plans to pick up and move but I would love to spend longer in London, learning the culture and the quirks that make
it wonderful. But now I have to go back to work tomorrow. Maybe it would be better if I looked forward to going to work...but well, you can't have everything.

Cheers.

I Am My Own Wife

I wrote this a while ago, when I saw this play on Broadway and I saw it again at Georger Street Playhouse last weekend and thought it was just as riveting then, so I wanted to share this:

A man in a dress seems hardly the sort a serious drama would take place around. If this thought is present, expel it before you experience “I Am My Own Wife.” Jefferson Mays, the man who is this show, enters for the first time in a long black dress and a string of pearls. No one laughs. He holds himself regally and in a perfectly affected German accent explains about Charlotte von Mahlsdorf’s phonograph collection. Mr. Mays portrays over forty characters in this play, but the central figure is Charlotte, a transvestite who survived both the Nazis and the Communists in East Germany, without giving up her identity.

The play begins as Doug, the playwright as a character, discovers and becomes enamored with Charlotte and her life. He decides to write a play about her life and visit her several times. Charlotte obliges with tales of her younger days, all set in her home which she made into a museum. Her museum is comprised of furniture pieces that Charlotte has obsessively collected during her life. The set suggests the furniture collection through shelves of old fashioned furniture on the upstage wall and through miniatures that Charlotte sets up as she gives Doug his first glimpse into her life. Much of the first act is dedicated to stories Charlotte relates to Doug regarding her survival.

It is not until the second act when Doug hears that Charlotte might have been a willing informant for the Communists that Doug and the audience has any reason to doubt Charlotte. We see one of her friends in jail but we do not dream it was she who helped him get there until Doug starts having his doubts. The image the audience is left with at the end is Charlotte as a young boy, sitting symbolically between two tigers. One, the Nazis. The other, the Communists. The boy sits in the middle smiling and safe.

Mr. Mays’ performance is nothing short of brilliant. In playing scenes with himself, all he has to do is change his physicality slightly and the audience knows that this is a different character. Perhaps the best example of this is a scene in the second act when Charlotte appears on a talk show and as Charlotte; Mr. Mays sits up straight with his hands folded and as the male talk show host, leans over with his legs on either side of the chair. It almost makes it seem as though there are two different actors onstage. But there are not. There is only one. And he wears a dress.

I've seen 45 Disney films

High School Musical:
Holes: *
Lizzie McGuire Movie: -
Cheetah Girls: *
Cheetah Girls 2: -
Halloween Town: -
Halloween Town High: -
Cadet Kelly: -

total so far: 1

Get a Clue: -
Motocrossed: -
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs: *
Pocahontas: *
Pocahontas 2: -
Lady and the Tramp: *

total so far: 4

Lady and the Tramp 2: -
Cinderella: *
The Parent Trap: * (both versions)
The Little Mermaid: *
The Little Mermaid 2:

Total so far: 7

Mary Poppins: *
The Fox and the Hound:
Dumbo: *
Pinocchio: *
Bambi: *
Bambi 2: -

total so far:11

The Rescuers Down Under: -
The Rescuers:
Toy Story: *
Toy Story 2: *
Lion King: *
Lion King 2:
Lion King 1 1/2:

total so far: 14

Peter Pan: *
Peter Pan 2:
Fantasia: *
The Three Caballeros: -
Alice in Wonderland: *
Sleeping Beauty: *

total so far: 19

101 Dalmations: *
101 Dalmations 2:
102 Dalmations:
The Sword in the Stone:
The Jungle Book: *
The Aristocats:

total so far: 21

Robin Hood:
Oliver and Company: *
Beauty and the Beast: *
Beauty and the Beast 2:
Aladdin: *
Aladdin: Return of Jafar: *
Aladdin: The King of Thieves: *

total so far: 25

Finding Nemo: *
Monsters, Inc: *
Hercules: *
Mulan: *
Mulan 2:
Tarzan: *

total so far: 30

Lilo & Stitch: -
Lilo & Stitch 2: -
Stitch! The Movie: -
The Hunchback of Notre Dame: *
The Emperor's New Groove: *
The Nightmare Before Christmas: -
Bed Knobs and Broomsticks: *
Pete's Dragon:

total so far: 33

Remember the Titans: *
Who Framed Roger Rabbit?: *
James and the Giant Peach:
Mighty Ducks: *
D2: Mighty Ducks: *
D3: Mighty Ducks: *
A Bug's Life: *
The Incredibles: *

total so far: 40

A Goofy Movie:
An Extremely Goofy Movie:
Atlantis:
The Chronicles of Narnia: *
Around the World in 80 Days: -
Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen: -

total so far: 41

A Cinderella Story: *
Pirates of the Carribean: *
Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest: *
National Treasure: *
Princess Diaries:
Princess Diaries 2:

total so far: 43

Freaky Friday:
Honey I Shrunk the Kids: *
A Muppet Christmas Carol: -
Ice Princess: -
Beauty and the Beast: An Enchanted Christmas: -
George of the Jungle:
Basil: The Great Mouse Detective: *

total so far: 45

total: 45
Repost this as: 'I've seen __ Disney films'

Collapse

When the day starts with a shelf collapsing for the second time this week and spreading your beloved DVD collection all over the place...that doesn't really bode well for the rest of the day...

I've been at my new job 2 months and things have been going ok...but today I feel like I had enough screw ups to last me for the entire time I'm at this job...both the manager and the director spoke to me and I felt awful...which doesn't necessarily make me do my job any better. I was frustrated and upset and I was totally beating myself up about it for the rest of the day.

Why do I do things like this? At my old job, things would happen now and then and I'd suck it up and move on. I guess I just felt today that I was letting my new team down...a team that I joined because they picked me, not because one of them is friends with my dad. Also, I have this little voice in the back of my head saying 'well, they still could let you go...it hasn't been 3 months yet.' And I don't want to give them any reason to consider doing that. Not that they would, necessarily...but still. I want to make a good impression on the new people...

Also, my grandmother is back in the hospital which upsets me and I don't know why but i mentioned that to my boss...but I didn't want her to think it was some sort of an excuse; it's not. It just is. And my sister is leaving the country for three months and I'm going to miss her. So I feel a bit at sea right now. But none of that should have to do with work and me making stupid mistakes.

There was what Dave said, that he thought I didn't really want to do this. And...he's right. I don't think I do. But I need to stay around this job for a while, a good six months to a year...that's if they don't let me go. Which I don't think they will. I made nice with one of them and told the other what was happening in the no-work related realm...so I can just hope that tomorrow will be a better day.