So far as courting positivity and welcoming wisdom as regards a lifetime of poverty line, I must say that I am feeling a bit over it today.  While I do believe I have safely left behind temptations to enter into the abysmal abyss of self-loathing, it is a blue thing to repeatedly monitor and vigilantly contain the blueness that arrives each time another batch of applications come to naught.  Meaning nothing, in the language of one well-inundated by the grammatical trappings of English language exultations.

I am painfully aware that my lack of publications will invariably make it easy to sort me out into the immediate NO pile as any respective search committee contends with the hundreds of hopefuls applying to any rare non-adjunct positions in the humanities.

Let alone such matters leaving an impression of value, there’s slim chance anyone reviewing will even become aware of such details that might set me apart otherwise: jingle dress dancer, artist, performer, gardener, public speaking, mother.  Such is of little to no account when the mantra of “publish or perish” is so firmly entrenched.

But I’m just so fatigued by those particular hoops, that I can’t convince myself to even fake the springiness for a proper jumping through.  Alas!  Earnestness and presence are not sufficient to procure a role as an educator or mentor, at least not in combination with a living wage.

I wish I didn’t care!  But I can’t seem retire the dream of earning enough so I can free my husband to work outdoors and grow our food.

It’s painful to know that the grand ideas and enthusiasms that my musing mind engenders for each employment possibility encountered, are ultimately passing daydreams.  The joys which arise whenever I entertain the many ways I would give my best, deflate into the realization that my best isn’t good enough for even a glance.

So, I give my little son a best hug and best smile for the circle drawings he hands me.  And I walk, and sing, and dance, and joke, and care.  I care so much about this ailing world and people that I cry for the sad sad love of it all.  And I reckon that’s worth something.