Truth Be Told

Recently, a former friend of mine published a memoir that included recollections of the small town we grew up in. There were several aspects of it that made me bristle and say, "Hey! That's not how I remember it!"

For example, Former Friend claimed that at our Catholic high school, there was only one single-session sex ed class a year, and it was taught by our gym teacher. But although it is true that they didn't really teach us much about "safe sex," what I also remember is that our religion teachers taught sex ed. I remember that sex ed occurred a lot more often than once a year, probably because they were afraid that we hormonal teenagers would be "corrupted" by the sin of premarital sex. (Little did they know that a lot of the students' minds had already been corrupted. If they had known, I can totally imagine the religion teachers shaking their heads sorrowfully while saying that we were going to go to hell unless we repented and the priests throwing holy water at us or something.)

(Side note: Although I am still a practicing Catholic and believe in many of its core principles, such as the Golden Rule of treating other people with kindness and compassion, there are several other things about the Church that I strongly disagree with.)

I don't remember our gym teacher teaching us sex ed, although he may have taught it to Former Friend and their classmates (Former Friend was in a different grade). I do remember that when the gym teacher taught us how to lift weights, he stood over us and yelled, "You're WEAK! Is that all you can benchpress, WEAKLING?" I also remember wishing I could say, "Who are you calling a weakling? Take THAT!" And then I'd karate kick him in the face.

Former Friend's memoir made me think about what might happen if I ever publish my work-in-progress, a book-length memoir titled Obsessions of a Workaholic. Since it's not a novel, I can't say, "It's fiction, and it's not based on you, of course," if someone from my life were to read it and get upset by my depiction of him or her. Everything that I've described in this blog really did happen, but I've had to alter the descriptions of some of the situations and/or people in order to protect their identities and my own.

That makes me wonder how much "altering" I'll need to do in my book. Since teaching has been such an important part of my life, naturally there are several chapters about my work as a teacher. But I have to be very careful about what I write, especially when it comes to the students.

Many of my students are good students who work hard, are polite and respectful to me and their classmates, and are dedicated to earning good grades and learning as much as they can while they are in college. Some of them have truly inspired me because of the writing they produced in my class or because of what they confided in me about their dreams for the future, which made me hope that all of their dreams would come true.

But as any teacher can relate, every year there is always a small, select group of students who are the complete opposite: the ones who are hostile and disrespectful, or the ones who believe they "deserve" A's just for showing up to class. These students are why my hair started turning white the first year I started teaching, and they are also why I always keep a bottle of Tylenol in my office at school.

Since I'm still working on the first draft, I've been writing down all the details that I can remember, everything from the student who confided in me about what it was like to be a transgender teenager in a community that believes people like them are mentally ill, to the student whose verbal attacks almost drove me to tears in front of one of the first classes I ever taught, causing several of the other students to feel sorry for me and apologize to me for that student's behavior after class was over.

I recently read a book titled Waiter's Rant, written by Steve Dublanica, who wrote about his experiences as a waiter at a fancy restaurant that the rich and famous dined at. His book was based on his blog, where he initially wrote under the pseudonym the Waiter. Once he revealed his true identity, he admitted that he'd never be able to get another restaurant job because of what he wrote. Fortunately for him, his book became a New York Times best-seller and he didn't have to wait tables anymore after it was published.

But the difference between him and me is that he didn't want to be a waiter until he retired, whereas I know that I want to spend my life as a writer AND a teacher. The problem is, if I write the whole truth and nothing but the truth about my former students, especially the ones who gave me the most problems, I could lose my job. Teachers are held to a different standard. Academia is a small world, and it's not just competitive, it's cutthroat because there are way too many people with PhDs and not enough jobs. I am a college professor, but I am untenured, which means that I don't have the job security that tenured professors have. If I lost my job, there would literally be hundreds of people lined up who would be more than happy to take my place.

This generation of students in particular is the one known for their "microaggressions" and demands for "trigger warnings" in their curriculum. Most of the students I've come across over the years are not like them, but there are nevertheless a few others I've read about in the news (as well as ones I've encountered in my own classes) who claimed that they were "offended" by things that their teachers said or wrote and then launched campaigns to destroy those teachers' careers and reputations, driving them out of their schools, and in some cases, out of education altogether. Sometimes, the teachers really did say offensive things, but in other cases, they didn't, but were nevertheless interpreted as such. Either way, I don't think that any of them deserved to be the target of hateful harassment campaigns.

Although I've achieved several of my academic and professional goals, I still have other goals. And I'm afraid that if this memoir did get published, I could lose everything I've worked for and everything I'm still working for if I revealed too many details about certain students.

I thought that if this book does get published, I could use my pseudonym: Neurotic Workaholic. But if and when I do become a published writer, I'd like to see my real name printed on my story, and if and when that happens, I'll reveal it on this blog. That's the thing about this blog: I can be more candid here because almost no one in my offline life knows that I'm the one writing this blog. It's different when it's a published book or short story.

For now, I've decided to follow Anne Lamott's advice about writing the "bad" first draft by including everything that I can remember, and I'll go back and edit it once I finish the first draft. I also try to remember what I've learned from other creative nonfiction writers I've read and heard speak: that what you write in creative nonfiction doesn't necessarily have to be 100% factual, as long as the core of what you're saying is true. David Sedaris, after all, is a creative nonfiction writer, but even he "embellishes" the truth about what happened. Dave Barry's hilarious columns are funny partly because he exaggerates a lot of things.

I think that one possible solution is that rather than describe the problem behavior of specific students, I could describe the problem behavior of a range of students, like the ones who sit in the back of the classroom, listen to music on their phones (even after I tell them to take off their headphones, they'll protest by saying, "But the music isn't even that loud!" And then I make a mental note to take some Tylenol right after class), and tune me out for weeks until they get their grades back. Then they blame ME when they don't get A's, and I also make a mental note to get my hair dyed to cover the white hair that is literally sprouting from my head at that moment. That might be less controversial than describing specific students.

What about you? Do you write creative nonfiction? If you do, how do you write about the "problematic" people you've encountered in your life? What do you think of memoirists who "embroider" the truth, as the writer Ruth Reichl admitted doing in her memoirs? (I love her books, regardless.)

I Remember...College

1. I remember when I was in college, I befriended a group of fellow Catholic students, whom I thought of as the "Not only am I holier than thou, but thou art going to hell" group. I enjoyed potluck dinners with them, snowball fights on the quad, and movie nights with them.

They went to Mass at a small church near campus almost every day, and they made me feel as if I was a "bad" Catholic because I only attended church on Sundays and other holy days of obligation. I made it clear to them that I didn't think I would burst into flames just because I didn't want to spend my Saturday nights playing the guitar and singing songs about why God was awesome. As much as I liked them, I grew irritated with their attempts to pressure me to be the kind of Catholics they were.

2. I remember that my friends described me as "independent." I went on my own to watch the movies or concerts that none of them liked. I often went to open mic nights and book signings alone while they hung out in bars, studied at the library, or sat around singing songs about why God was awesome. Whenever I heard about an interesting neighborhood, museum exhibition, or bookstore, I would look up the information and figure out how to get there by myself.

Some of my friends thought it was weird that I was a loner while most of the undergrads didn't even want to be seen eating dinner by themselves, but I enjoyed the freedom of being able to choose exactly where I wanted to go and stay for as long as I wanted.

3. I remember that I often stayed on campus during spring break, while everyone else visited their families or traveled with their friends. I was studying in my room with the door open one day, and one of the only other people on my floor who was also staying on campus passed by and invited me to join her and her friends on an outing to a restaurant and a park near campus.

I accepted, grateful for the invitation and the company. Her friends were very nice and welcoming to me. All went well until we were sitting in a circle in a quiet corner of the park, when one of the friends pulled out a joint and started passing it around. They offered it to me, or rather, they offered it to my quickly retreating back as I made up an excuse and left early, so as to avoid getting high and also avoid the possibility of getting arrested for getting high.

4. I remember that I had a vague idea that I wanted to teach someday, but I was afraid of public speaking. I got over that fear by becoming a campus tour guide. I'd like to say that I perfected the art of walking backwards while talking to large groups of people, but what usually happened was that I would keep hopping up and down, yelling to make myself heard before I eventually backed up into a trash can or a patch of grass.

5. I remember that I toyed with the idea of becoming a journalist, which is why I wrote for the school paper. I remember that the editors (as well as many other students at college) strongly disliked one of the faculty members at the school, so much so that they encouraged us student reporters to interview all the people who also disliked that faculty member in an attempt to dig up dirt on that person. The editors claimed that this was the type of article that would get published in Rolling Stone. I thought it was the type of article that would get published in Us Weekly, and it disgusted me so much that I stopped writing for the paper.

6. I remember that four years of English classes taught me how to over-analyze books and write papers about them, though none of them taught me what I was supposed to DO after graduation. I did internships in public relations, publishing, and the nonprofit sector, which educated me on the proper ways to make copies, make phone calls, and organize filing cabinets.

7. I remember that I wanted to be like my professors, who taught me how to understand and appreciate fine literature and poetry, which opened up my mind in endless ways. But when I told them that I wanted to be a professor, almost all of them warned me about how difficult it would be and how long it would take. I remember I thought that as long as I was good at teaching and liked it, that would be enough.

After spending the better part of my twenties and thirties working in academia, I finally understand what my professors were talking about.

What about you? What do you remember about your college years?

Writing What You Like to Read

Recently, I was at a bookstore, thumbing through a literary magazine (which shall remain nameless), and suddenly slammed it shut, like I'd just been caught reading 50 Shades of Grey during Mass. (I can't help thinking that if I actually did that in church, the rest of the congregation would point at me and shriek, "Get thee gone, Jezebel!")

The reason I stopped reading the story in that magazine was because it described in graphic detail a menage a trois (at least, I hope only three people were involved, and that I wouldn't have eventually stumbled upon an even more graphic description of a full-on orgy). This wasn't an "adult" magazine; this was a reputable literary magazine that many writers, including me, aspire to be published in.

Many editors and writers always say that people who want to be published in those periodicals should read them and familiarize themselves with what those publications are looking for. That's what I was trying to do that day in the bookstore. But although I'm not one of those people who think that everything on TV and in books should be G-rated (seriously, how boring would THAT be?), I do feel uncomfortable when I read some of the stories that are praised and published in those magazines.

I'm not saying that sex should NEVER be written about, especially because many of the chick lit novels that I've read do include love scenes. Some of them, however, go a little too far. For example, I read a scene where a girl's car literally exploded (someone was trying to kill her). Instead of doing something that made sense, like call the cops or the fire department or RUN AWAY SCREAMING, she and the FBI agent who was supposed to protect her went back into her house and...well, you know. And meanwhile I'm shaking my head and thinking, "This is what gets published?"

I've read other stories in other literary magazines that describe events that I don't describe in my own stories, like drug abuse, violence, and suicide. These are all important, real-life issues that should not be swept under the rug. But that doesn't mean that I want to be the one who writes about them.

Although I love reading chick lit, sometimes it's hard for me to relate to the main characters, whose lives often revolve around finding and/or keeping a guy. Although finding true love is important to me too, anyone who's read this blog for a while will know that I'm married to my work. Most of the guys I've dated didn't appreciate coming in second, and I don't blame them. I think that the fact that I can't relate to most chick lit novels is why it's been difficult for me to write one of my own.

One genre I love reading even more than chick lit is humor writing. Dave Barry was the first humor writer I ever read. He could make ordinary things like taking his dog out to go to the bathroom seem like one of the funniest things in the world. Angela Nissel, author of The Broke Diaries, knew how to describe a trip to Wal-mart or the laundry room in a witty, entertaining way.

I've also been reading hilarious memoirs by people like Jim Gaffigan, David Sedaris, Rachel Dratch, Jenny Mollen (though some of her raunchy descriptions made me think that the people at my church would probably hurl holy water at her but she would just stick her tongue out at them and keep writing), Jen Lancaster, and Tina Fey.What they taught me was that being neurotic and obsessive can be good, because I can put those qualities to good use in my writing. Those writers obsess over things that most people take for granted, but they do it in a funny way and they get paid for it.

I just finished reading Amy Poehler's memoir, Yes Please, and she wrote something that struck a chord with me: "Decide what your currency is early. Let go of what you will never have. People who do this are happier and sexier."

It made me think about what my own currency is. As far as writing goes, maybe my "currency" could be humor writing too. I haven't given up on the manuscripts of chick lit novels that I've written. But writing about my own life in a witty, funny way has always come much more easily to me, though I know I still have a lot to learn.

Of course, it's much easier for celebrities to publish creative nonfiction, though I don't discredit the talent of writers like the ones I've mentioned (especially because they are all very talented. On the other hand, there are also celebrity "authors" like Snooki, so...) But it got me thinking that maybe I should try to get my own humor writing published too, whether I collect some of the writing I've done on this blog or in my stack of journals and put it in a book, or whether I come up with new pieces and send them out to magazines and websites that publish humor writing (websites and literary magazines won't publish blog posts that have already been posted online, because they're considered "published").

What do you think? Do you write the kinds of stories that you like to read, or do you prefer to explore different genres? What kinds of things do you not like to read about?

Writing about Religion

Although I blog and Tweet about a lot of things, one thing I don't usually write too much about is religion. I'm Catholic, but not the "I feel guilty about EVERYTHING" type of Catholic. I used to know some people who went to church almost every day, and they were basically the "I'm holier than you, you, and DEFINITELY you" Catholics. They criticized me because I only went to church on Sundays. (But I know that not everyone who attends church every day are the holier-than-thou types.)

I know that religion is a touchy issue for a lot of people, similar to politics. Most people have their own views on those issues, and when they start debating them, it can get complicated. But sometimes someone will say something negative about Catholics or Christians, and I'm not always sure how to respond.

For example, I follow several people on Twitter who are atheists. How do I know they're atheists? Because they Tweet about how they believe that everyone who reads the Bible is ignorant. They criticize anyone who believes in God. On Ash Wednesday, there were WAY too many offensive jokes about Catholics who got the ashes put on their foreheads. They say a lot of things that make me MAD. I know that not all atheists are like that; I've met several atheists who never talked about religion at all.

One of the best things about living in America is the right to free speech. So even if those people's Tweets about religion offend me, they have the right to write them. They have the right to their own beliefs, including the right not to practice any religion.

And I know that Catholics don't have the best reputation, especially in light of the abuse scandal. And I don't agree with all of the Church's perspectives. For example, I don't support its stance against gay marriage; I think that gay people should have the right to get married, and I don't think that straight people should be in a position to withhold that right from them.

But even though I don't support everything that the Church stands for, I am still a practicing Catholic, and I still believe in God. That's why it angers me when people claim that I'm ignorant or stupid for reading the Bible, because I'm NOT. I have the right to practice any religion I want, and that's another great thing about living in America.

Whenever I read a Tweet that offends me, I want to write back to that person and say, "God can see what you're Tweeting!" or "If I had a lightning bolt right now, I'd throw it at you!" But I don't. I know that if I say something to them, it will probably provoke an argument. And I really don't want to fight with people I don't even know. So I figure that it's better just to ignore the Tweets that bother me, or unfollow the people who write them.

I did, however, once write a Tweet that said something like this: I don't go around preaching my religious beliefs to everyone on Twitter. It'd be GREAT not to read any more Tweets that bashed mine.

I don't expect everyone to agree with my religious beliefs, but it'd be nice if they respected my beliefs, just as I respect theirs.

What about you? How do you deal with it when you read something online that offends you?

What I Like about Twitter

When I first heard about Twitter a few years ago, I dismissed it as just another fad that people would get tired of eventually. I did read a few people's Twitter pages, and they mostly Tweeted stuff like, "Going to work. Ugh," or "This is a yummy lunch," along with a picture of whatever they were eating, or a string of "@s" that just said stuff like "LOL!" It didn't really hold my interest, especially since I don't really care about what other people are eating, unless they're going to share their food with me (because, you know, free food!).

I also dismissed it because I suspected that several of my students, who were constantly tapping on their phones during class, were either on Twitter or Facebook. (Side note: I can't help wondering if the current generation was born with tiny cell phones clutched in their fists, because they never let go of their phones.) I disliked any kind of distraction that kept them from focusing on the lesson, and I didn't really see the point of being on Twitter OR Facebook.

My opinion of social networking sites slowly changed after I started blogging. Before I started this blog, I was too shy to show my work to anyone, unless I was in a creative writing class and I HAD to share it with other people. I kept my writing hidden in notebooks, and I kept my dream of becoming a writer hidden from almost everyone.

What I like about blogging is that it gave me the opportunity to "meet" other people, many of whom were writers, who I probably never would have met otherwise. I like reading everyone's blog posts, and I like the "dialogue" that we all get to have, not just in our blog posts but in the comments that we leave for each other.

I set up my own Twitter page a few months ago, partly because of two people who were on Twitter: Joyce Carol Oates and Pope Francis. As a Catholic, I admire Pope Francis, especially because he seems to be very open-minded and is working hard to make some much-needed changes in the Church.

As a writer, I admire Joyce Carol Oates; I always thought she would be one of those writers who shun social networking sites in order to focus exclusively on their novels or short stories. But she Tweets frequently, and even though I don't agree with everything that she writes, it's still fascinating to follow her train of thought.

I started following many other writers and agents on Twitter, as well as a couple literary magazines. It's a good way to find out about writing contests and agents and magazines that are accepting submissions. It's also a good way to find out about new books that other people have written.

I also follow a lot of "joke bloggers", people who write witty and funny one-liners. Some of them are celebrities, like Conan O'Brien, Steve Martin, and Ellen DeGeneres. Others are stand-up comedians or just regular people with a great sense of humor. Reading these people's jokes makes standing in line, my daily commute, and dealing with annoying people a lot easier, especially because doing those things gives me something to Tweet about (and it gives me something to do when I'm on my commute or standing in line).

When I'm having a stressful day, logging onto Twitter and reading about what's going through people's minds often makes me feel better, especially when they Tweet something that makes me think, Yes! I thought I was the only one who felt that way!

I also like that you can "star" or retweet people's Tweets; it always makes my day when someone does that to what I've written, because it makes me feel good that other people are reading and liking what I'm writing. I like being able to "talk" to other people on Twitter, especially because similar to online dating, it's much easier to start a conversation with someone online than to just go up and introduce yourself to an interesting person in real life.

I think that a lot of people join social networking sites like Twitter because they want to make connections with others. It's not the same as an offline connection, of course, but it's still something that makes people, including me, happy. And I think it makes everyone feel like they're not alone.

Twitter and this blog allow me to express myself, because so much of "real life" consists of me holding my tongue; I know that if I say what I'm really thinking in real life, I'd get in trouble. But I can say what I want to say online (though I do censor myself in many ways, just in case), without as much fear that people will attack/criticize/reject me as a result. A fellow Twitter user, who calls herself Sigourney Beaver, Tweeted this recently, and I think it's something that applies to a lot of people, including me: "I'm more myself here than I am in some real life situations because I've just learnt to censor things. This place can be my escape sometimes."

What about you? What do you like about social networking sites, whether it's Twitter, blogging, Facebook, etc.?

Exercise Fanatics, Nacho Lovers, and Cubs Fans

(Side note: I wrote this post a couple days ago. When I read the articles about what happened at the Boston Marathon, I suddenly viewed the things that happened in this post from an entirely different perspective. I'm so sorry about what happened at the marathon, and I feel sad and scared for all the people who have been affected by it. I hope they find whoever did it so that it never happens again.)

Earlier this week I was using one of the weight-lifting machines at the gym, when I was suddenly confronted by a Possessive Exercise Fanatic. This is the kind of person who will spend a long time on each machine because he or she does several sets on it, but the Possessive Exercise Fanatic will also alternate by doing sets on other machines. The PEF thinks that because he or she hasn't completed all of his or her sets, that means the PEF is entitled to lay claim on all the machines he or she wants to use, even if the PEF isn't actually using them at that moment.

I kind of think of the PEFs as those little kids I encountered when I was younger, who would say stuff like, "These are all MY toys, MINE! You can't play with them!" Only the PEF's version is "These are all my exercise machines, MINE, and you can't use any of them until I'm done with them, because only I shall have the muscular biceps/six-pack abs/perfect calves, weakling! Hahahahaha!"

I had seen this particular Possessive Exercise Fanatic do several sets in a row on one of the machines, but then he moved on to another machine for several minutes. I thought that meant it was okay for me to use the machine that he had left. But I had barely done one set before he was tapping his foot in front of me and saying that he was still using it.

I insisted on finishing my set rather than get up and leave right away like he wanted, though what I wanted to say was, "Last time I checked, we both pay the same membership fees, so I have just as much right to use this machine as you do. So shall I drop a dumbbell on your foot now, or later? Because it will happen NOW if you keep hogging all the machines. And stop glaring at me like that, because otherwise I'm going to introduce my sneaker to your face."

When I was riding the train, I saw a guy eat nachos covered with jalapenos, sour cream, salsa, and beef out of a fast food container. Most people (including me) tend not to eat on the train, partly because of the fear that someone might sneeze on our food. But that didn't stop this guy. He only finished eating about half of the nachos. Before he left the train, he shoved the open container under his seat, so that the rest of us could admire his half-eaten meal and smell it for the rest of the ride. I wanted to chase after him and say, "Hey! You forgot something!" Then I'd yell, "Catch!" before flinging the nachos at him.

Inconsiderate, self-centered people like the Nacho Lover and the Possessive Exercise Fanatic drive me nuts. In fact, if people like them didn't exist, this blog would be at least two hundred posts shorter. I think that one reason they bother me so much is that I was taught to be considerate of other people. The nuns and priests at the Catholic school I went to when I was younger told us that we should do at least one good deed a day, if not more, and that included being considerate of other people. I think it's also partly due to the fact that I am a writer; writers are supposed to develop a stronger awareness of their surroundings, and that includes being observant of other people and their needs. (On the other hand, I know that there are plenty of writers out there who are observant but also very rude.)

So I try to be considerate of other people, and that includes cleaning up after myself, not hogging anything, and not blasting my music or television at all hours.  I also try to help other people in small ways, at least once a day, whether it's leaving a tip for the baristas at the cafes that I write in, holding a door open for someone, buying a sandwich for a homeless person, or helping a person in a wheelchair cross the street. In other words, I try to remember what I was taught, which was that I should treat other people the way I would want to be treated.

That's why it's still disheartening when I come across supposedly mature adults who show no consideration for other people and focus solely on their own concerns, even if it hurts or annoys someone else. I'm supposed to "turn the other cheek", but what I really want to do is introduce my sneaker to their faces. But I'm not a violent person, even though sometimes I fantasize about what it would be like if I was the female version of Jackie Chan or James Bond. Then NO ONE would dare mess with me.

I often write down what I'd like to say to those people, because I know if I said it out loud it would probably start a fight. I know I shouldn't let their rude, thoughtless behavior bother me, but it does.

But fortunately, not all people are like that. On the day of the first Cubs game of the season, there were several people wearing baseball caps, jackets, and shirts with the Cubs logo on them. When I saw them on the train, I immediately thought, Oh, MAN. Now the train is going to be extra crowded, and I'm going to have to listen to them say stuff like, "Do you think if I throw up later, it'll come out blue because I'm a Cubs fan?"  I also always end up trapped on a train full of Cubs fans when it's ninety degrees outside and the A/C isn't working. (Fortunately, it was cold that day.)

The train was crowded, but when I stood up at my stop to leave, I heard several of the Cubs fans whisper to each other, "Step out of the way. She's trying to get off the train." Unlike many locals I've seen who only inch out of the way or don't move at all when other people try to get off the train, or who push and shove their way onto the train before the people in the train have a chance to get off, these people actually made a narrow path for me to get through. Their courtesy and consideration for me, a perfect stranger, made me think that chivalry really isn't dead after all. (It also made me think that maybe they were tourists who hadn't adopted the "me first" mentality that so many Chicago commuters have.)

So on the rare occasion when someone is considerate towards me or when I see someone doing a good deed for someone else, it always makes my day. That incident on the train almost made up for the time that I was in Wrigleyville after a game and saw Cubs fans peeing outside of apartment buildings.

What about you? What is an example of rude or inconsiderate behavior that bugs you, and how do you deal with it?

P.S. Is it true that there won't be a Google Reader anymore starting in July? How are we supposed to know when blogs are updated without it?

Settling for Less

I once went on a date with a guy who went off on a rant about all the reasons he disagreed with the Catholic Church. This was after I told him that I was Catholic. I didn't say, "Well, enjoy hell then, sinner." I did try to defend my religion, but I admit that I didn't respond as well as I could have; I was caught off guard by what he said. But I don't feel like I should have to defend Catholicism, especially not on a date.

I used to know some people my age who went to church every day. A couple of them criticized me because I only went to Mass on Sundays and on holy days of obligation. I didn't feel like I had to defend myself to them either, and I didn't like feeling like I had to.

Side note: I'd like to dedicate Sarah Bareilles' song, "King of Anything" to those holier-than-thou people and that guy. I wish I'd heard that song at the time, so that I could say those lines back to them.



I grew up Catholic and I still practice my religion, but I don't try to pressure anyone to accept my beliefs. I figure everyone has a right to their own beliefs, and as long as we can all find a way to get along in spite of our differences, it's okay.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I did call that guy after the date; in spite of his rant, I thought he seemed like a nice guy. But we didn't go out again. Looking back now, I know that it never would have worked out anyway. I would have been settling for someone whose criticism of my religion made me want to do something very un-Christian to his face just so he would stop talking.

It's easy to make the decision not to "settle" for someone, because we can live without dates and romantic relationships. What we can't live without, however, is money. That means we often have no choice but to settle for jobs that we dislike because we can't support ourselves without the money that comes from those jobs.

Recently I burst into tears in front of my coworkers at my retail job. There wasn't any specific reason why, or maybe it was because of several reasons. I cried because I was so stressed out over having to work almost every day, week after week, because this job was taking up a lot more time than I thought it would. I cried because I was just so tired; I only got to sit down for fifteen minutes during each shift, even if the shift lasted for more than seven or eight hours. I cried because I hadn't had time to do any of the things that were important to me, like write fiction, blog, or work on my dissertation. I cried because I hated this job and I felt trapped.

I could have walked out. I could have gone all Godzilla on the store and knocked all the merchandise off the shelves while growling incoherently and the other customers fled in terror.

But I didn't. I eventually stopped weeping, dried my tears, and went back to work. To make matters worse, a few days later a customer I was helping recognized me. This customer turned out to be one of the popular girls from my high school. She is now married to one of the popular guys, who was with her at the store, along with their young children. She runs her own business now.

I felt embarrassed to be ringing up her purchase, wearing a uniform that was several sizes too big for me, with my hair pointing in several different directions, while she looked very pretty and polished. I didn't tell her about all the things I've done since high school: graduate school, teaching, etc. I felt like I was a sixteen-year-old high school student again on Valentine's Day, when several of the girls were carrying around bouquets of roses that their boyfriends had given them and I was carrying around an armful of books.

I don't know how much longer I can keep working at this job. I haven't had any time off this summer, and even a workaholic like me needs to rest. I'm supposed to turn in a draft of my dissertation to my committee soon, but I haven't been able to work on it in weeks. I come home every day too exhausted to do anything. I got my paycheck recently and it's barely enough to cover half my bills, despite all the hours I worked.

Being so tired and stressed out has also made me feel angry about little things. I feel angry when I go to a coffeehouse and I see freeloaders who are just there for the free Wi-Fi; they don't even bother to buy anything and they hog tables for hours. I feel angry when the bus driver passes my stop even though I'm standing right there, so that I have to go running after it. I feel angry that I applied for a good job that would have allowed me to escape retail, but I was passed over for someone who had about five years less experience than I do. And I don't want to feel so angry, tired, and stressed out all the time.

I still have my website job, and I have a small emergency fund. But to be honest I'm almost tempted to go into credit card debt if that's what it took to escape this job. But I've never quit a paying job before unless I had another job waiting. I've applied for other jobs, but I know that if I got another retail job it'd probably be more of the same thing. It's just that when I think of the rest of the summer being like this, I'm afraid that I might lose it at work again. And I'm not so sure that I'm willing to settle for a job that makes me so unhappy just so I can get paid.

Have you ever quit a job before? Have you ever kept working at a job that you disliked? What would you do if you were in my situation?

Distractions

    I didn't go to Mass every Sunday this year, largely because of work. I stayed home, grading papers or reading books in preparation for my preliminary exams. I felt guilty for not going, but I was always on a deadline and had to get the work done sooner rather than later.
    I know several Catholics who don't go to Mass at all or only go twice a year, on Christmas Day and Easter Sunday. But I think it's important to attend church every Sunday and on holy days of obligation. In college, I did a project on Islam for my theology class. I interviewed several Muslim students. One girl said something which really impressed me: "It's not just a religion; it's a way of life." It made me think of how they incorporated their beliefs into their lives and devoted themselves to those beliefs.
   So I've started going to church regularly again. I went to Mass for Easter, and the church was packed, unlike on regular Sundays.
   When I go to Mass I get fidgety. Suddenly my nose starts running and I keep sniffling. I blow my nose with a Kleenex, but worry that people near me might think my hands are germy now and won't want to shake hands when we say peace to each other. Then I keep feeling the urge to cough, and when I do I worry about my germy hands again. Once I kept coughing and a woman wouldn't shake hands when we said peace to each other. She just gave me a look that was decidely un-Christian. On another occasion, I coughed and a woman gave me a cough drop. Now I bring a small bottle of hand sanitizer with me.
   But I still feel fidgety. I feel like everyone behind me is staring at the wrinkles on my pants because I didn't have time to iron that morning. My side suddenly itches but I don't want to keep scratching myself and look weird as a result. The itching subsides when I feel guilty for thinking too much about how other people see me and not paying enough attention to the Mass itself.
    I look up at the priest giving the homily. I wonder if it bothers him when he looks out at the congregation and sees people sneaking in fifteen, thirty, or even forty minutes late. People are on time for movies and baseball games but not for Mass. I wonder if it bothers him when someone's cell phone starts ringing and keeps ringing for several moments, because apparently the cell phone's owner has gone temporarily deaf.
    Often little kids will break away from their parents and go running up and down the aisles. The parents bring them back to their pews, but a minute later the kids start running off again. I wonder if that bothers the priest too or if he just doesn't get easily irritated like I do.
    I keep thinking about all the work that I have to do. I distract myself by focusing on the prayers and the songs. Sometimes I wish the cantor wouldn't sing all five or six verses of each song. One of my pet peeves is that people will often stand up to go up and receive Communion when there are still several rows of people ahead of them. Then I feel pressured to stand. Maybe they're afraid that there won't be any more Communion hosts left when they get up there. Maybe they just don't want to kneel anymore. Or maybe they're planning to leave early, right after Communion. I know that bothers the priests. I think about how much work they put into organizing each Mass, and how it must affect them when people don't stay the whole time.
    I come back to my pew after receiving Communion and the couple who were sitting next to me have already reached the pew, because they didn't stop to take a sip of the wine. The woman is already kneeling, so I nudge her husband politely to get her to stand up so that I can make my way to my seat. But he just looks at me and shrugs and they both refuse to move. Hmm. I'm not sure that's what Jesus would do. I walk around the pew to get to my seat.
    Mass ends and I walk out with everyone else. Some people hold their church bulletins close to their chests, as if they're letting everyone know that they just went to church. I go home and go back to work, but I resolve to focus more on the Mass than on myself and other people next time. But I'll still bring hand sanitizer, just in case.