the unsolicited job offer received by phone on a Friday night: doesn’t find me skipping for joy this morning. Quite the contrary. If approved by the higher ups to the higher ups despite my lack of diplomas, the job itself plus the time spent getting to and from three of the local schools? Those “free” hours left, I’ll spend catching up on everything else – including sleep. What will happen to the writing then? What’s happening now. Less and less and less energy fed into writing = less and less and less writing done and a growing sense of for this you clung to the dream all this time?No, teaching small children to say What’s your name- my name is … never ranked in the list of accomplishments I yearned to call my own.
Of course, instead of whining here, I could be working on the draft, yes? Yes, if working on the draft means yielding to the inner whip-bearer yelling Stop Wasting Your Time! Get To Work or You’ll Know Why You’re Crying!
I may yet get turned down for lack of diplomas (although they sounded desperate enough to hire anyone born in a country where the Henglish tongue they speak it some). Can I use the extra income? Please, my back hurts when I laugh. Of course, I can use enough income to hover above the poverty line. What kills me this morning and knocked me out cold last night: the hours of extra trudging this will involve, and the fact one of the schools is an outlier. I have no car and no prospects of ever owning one again.
Oh, all this makes perfect prep material for one of the characters, of course. Of course. Anything can serve as prep material if your dream is to write tales of heartbreak of the commonplace variety. The kind where getting a good night’s sleep and waking to the prospect of buying a presentable T-shirt rate as the bright stars in the clear morning light.
Oy oy oy. Allez. At yesterday’s meeting, the nurse from the Judiciary branch of child protection talked about the Urgency Scale getting upped all the time. First, the file came with a U stamp. Then, with a TU (très urgent). TU moved up to TTU. They’ve reached TTTTU status now, and staff burnout has become a given. Considering some of choices involved in treating a TTTU vs a TTU, you quickly reach the point of Who Cares if I yell all the time. Let’s say the TTTU concerns the twelve-year old who raped his mother and the TTU the nine-year old who came back from a parental visit with skull lacerations? What if you decide the TTU rates higher on your priority scale? And so on.
As she spoke, I pulled out my small set of colored felt points and colored the squares in my copy book in a descending scale starting at Urgent and running down to twelve Ts followed by a U. The final square reads Slow PJJ (protection judiciaire de la jeunesse).
Clicking the Music category on this one. No doubt about it: I’ll need some music today.