|
|
Thus ends Part Two of my illustrious, prolonged educational career. This time, last year, I was mired in a puddle of my own insignificance: alone, recently laid off from my job of many, many years, playing cat-and-mouse with unemployment benefits, sifting through every likely job possibility, and consuming MASS quantities of beer to dull my senses every evening. It's almost the anniversary of blowing out my knee (in my mad dash to keep moving), without benefit of insurance, too. I've bitched about shitty years, before... but that one gets the Gold. But, come August, I took advantage of the opportunity of going back to school... and community college sounded like a lot better way to spend my days, rather than further mental and physical deterioration. Looking back, now, it was a pipe dream, at best... since "graphic communications", as taught, was still geared toward the print industry. Seeing this week's announcement that Newsweek is going down the Memory Hole was a poignant reminder that such a path is futile. Still, I've learned to design, have a portfolio full of graded projects and access to a little gallery that's been holding onto my artwork for the past two months, going on three. And there's the Dean's List, with hopefully three more "A's" to add to it. Attending classes with students whose parents were younger than I was... daunting, at first. Being the only non-faculty with graying hair for miles around, I felt like a freak. Just like high school... which it almost is. But, I found respect there, too. From classmates and instructors and, maybe, the selection committee for a poster design. A friend or two, also. With the campus fading in my rear view mirror, yesterday, I felt another door close shut behind me. My unemployment ran out, weeks ago (thank you, Politrix-sters), leaving me to drain the last of my "retirement" to put gas in the car to attend school, and pay for one last month of rent in this house that I've lived in, for years. Returning in the Fall to complete my certificate program is an impossibility, since you can't work and go to full-time school... and the State has washed its hands of me. So, now, I wonder what that was all about. This afternoon, I meet with a large landowner to interview for a painting job. House painting. For all of my lofty dreams of landing a decent, challenging occupation, a Job... any Job... is what I have to have. One thing I have learned, through all of this, is that the majority of people are oblivious. With stable employment, "struggle" is not buying what you want, the minute you want it... vacation time isn't here, yet... having to finance lazy unemployed people is an affront. Maybe I thought those things, subliminally, as well, at some point. But, I came from the wrong side of the tracks, to begin with. That part of my history has repeated itself in the past twelve months (actually, you can add another year to that, come to think of it). The Decline. But, I can't bring myself to consider checking out of this rigged Game. Not yet. I'm counting on the good things to repeat, though. The pendulum has to swing both ways. That's why I still get up in the morning. That's why I hang on. |
|
|
