"A shadow of my former self."

I've said it often, mostly in jest, in reference to a life post-employment. I won't spit the bit about living in a world where we're tricked into defining ourselves by our career- that track is played out. Still, it's how we play. Even when, for a moment, we figure out how not to define ourselves this way (or at the very least, use language suggesting otherwise), our occupation becomes shorthand when the philosophical answer is just too lengthy or as an obligatory eke at parties ("What do I do? I hug! I dance in the mirror! Oh, professionally....I'm in advertising")

Then one day, you aren't. You aren't what you are. You're what you used to do. What you had been doing. So for awhile, I felt like a dark afterthought. Unequal proof that something brighter may once have been there- full of color and specific form. Something now much murkier, distinguishable but nebulous, decidedly irresolute.

I don't feel like a shadow anymore, but lately, like a soft glow. I mean, its better but it isn't Better. Pleasant but kind of pointless, and lacking in energy. Enough to comfort, perhaps warm, but little to invigorate, and God forbid you need to photosynthesize anything. I've become increasingly domestic, which is great, except that I never imagined caring that the dishes were done would come at the the high expense of having little else to concern myself with. I cook fresh meals at home, scour the farmer's market (between shopping and food prep you can kill half a day!) and work out religiously. I cleaned the bathroom the other day and thought up no less than five witty Facebook status messages extolling my triumph.

Glowing, sure, but feeling dim. Existing in the bench-press-crockpot territory between Arnold Swarznegger and Betty Friedan.

One-man production of "The Feminine Mystique." Coming to a stage near you.

Hello? Hello? Are you still there?

My goodness, I forgot this little blog existed. And now, more than a year has passed and all my sexy adventures and naive diatribes have gone undocumented.

Let's see....Nutshell, SF 07-08:
No Job.
Job.
Guy. Good.
Guy. Gone.
New Job.
Guys. Good.
Guy. Gone
Good guy. Gone, but we're still good.
Job. OK.
Job. Gone.
No Job. OK.
Gone. Good.
Campaign. Great!
Back. Good.
Here. Eh.
Next? Please.
Life. Happening.

And then there was one. One week until 2009.

I was bitching to Leah the other day about how excited I am to see '08 in the rear view, and optimistic about '09 for the simple reason that it is taxonomically different, and therefore better.

"So," she asks, "is it that you're hoping things will just get better, or that you want do do things differently?"

Ouch. I'm pretty sure she hadn't meant to smack me, but I sat struck, nonetheless. It's easy to feel helpless about my life lately, but the cliched truth is, I am in charge of how I perceive the reality of now. I do want do do things differently, and strangely enough, that starts with actively hoping things will get better. That I will be better. Not gonna lie, I think I'm pretty cool now, but I know I've the potential to be much more.
Me. How easy it is to forget that I control what he believes.

2009:I want to look at people the way a certain platonic person looks at me, and I know he's actually listening to everything I'm saying. I want to smile more at people on the street-really smile, like, "so genuine it will change their day" smile. I want the bliss of sore limbs from a long day of play. I want to feel less like the world owes me something and more like I have overflowing amounts to give the world. I want to tell you about the great job I have, the one I love and am well compensated for. I want to tell my mom that I'm in love, and I can't wait for her to meet him. I'd like to get more hugs, and let people know I need more hugs. I want to feed someone a delicious meal.

And how, you ask, is '08 rounding out? Laid off. Check. Economic crisis. Check. Unemployment payments. Sometimes a check, sometimes no check.
Things are lookin'up though, right? I got another mental tidbit from Shawn in addition to Leah's unintended gut check:
You can't fall off of the floor.
I guess I'll just wait here for the wax to dry.

This is San Francisco

I said I'd never do it.

Could anyone be that interested in the mundane that is my life?
Could I be so deluded as to think it worth publishing?
Is it possible to sit at a computer and type words like this without imagining I'm Carrie Bradshaw (and where's my Marc Jacobs?)

But my friends need to know that I'm ok. And I need to feel like someone is listening.

So here it is. This is San Francisco.

Today marked my 40th day in the city. If you believe in the bible, there's some significance. Moses did his 40 in the desert as Jesus later would. My desert is different in that it's wonderfully temperate and deliciously lush. The post-uber-baptist inside of me, however, can't help but recognize a similar absence of God.

I went on a job interview today. My third, which should make it a "charm" unless you count the fact that it's my third second-interview. Then it's my sixth and probably bad luck. It's great being double-degreed and jobless in a city where co-ed cybergeek dropouts are millionaires.

The diversity here is amazing. It's like the cover of a Jehovah's Witness pamphlet, and at any given moment you expect to see a lion and a lamb sharing a latte at Starbucks. Everywhere I look there are beautiful people of indistinguishable ethnic identity and I'll think, "oooh...I'm not sure what that is, but I like it." Like walking through the fragrance section at Macy's. Every now and then it's a little annoying. Nothing irks you more on a really bad day than seeing a little Chinese kid and a little Mexican kid and a little Cambodian kid and a little Canadian kid swinging on a play ground like we can all just get along. I mean, I guess it's good, but on a bad day.....

And bad days...they've made an appearance. Not consecutively or crushing, but the days I got turned down for jobs..bad. The day I was overcome by what I'd left...bad. The day I realized I could be annoyed by playing children...pathetic. The Friday night I wasn't sure where I'd be sleeping on Saturday night...one of the scariest ever. I'm not saying I've had it rough, or that I've had to suffer. But I can say there's a shorter list of things I take for granted.

But the city. The city is beautiful. The architecture is classic and the attitude is creme de chill. I find it totally rude for people to smoke weed in public (and by public, I mean walking up a main street downtown) but I respect their right to do it and I'm glad to be in a city where it's beyond OK. Is this bus pass made of rolling paper?

I can't say I've fallen for you yet San Francisco, but as of late, you sure aren't the bitch you have been.

Cheers,
Quentin