New York City Is Good for the Soul...and a Broken Heart

After what happened with the Model, I've been feeling a lot of dark emotions. Anger and hate towards him for deceiving and using me. Resentment and jealousy towards his girlfriend for living in blissful ignorance of his infidelity, and for her Instagram posts where she went on and on about their amazing relationship (and he was always the first to "like" or comment on them). Frustration with myself for still having feelings for him and for feeling compelled to look at their Instagram pages, even though doing so hurt me each time. Sadness and disappointment over what I'll never have with him.

But then last week I went to New York City, a vacation that I'd planned months ago. I'd wanted to go back to New York ever since I first went there four years ago. And gradually, I started emerging from the dark cloud that hung over me ever since I first found out that the Model used me to cheat on his girlfriend.

One of the first things I did was Google "literary events in New York City," which is how I found out about a poetry slam at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe. When I lived in Small Town, Tennessee, I used to drive for hours to Nashville on a regular basis, partly because of its thriving literary scene; there were poetry readings and open mic nights for writers almost every week. They don't really have anything like that in College Town, which is why I was excited to attend the poetry slam, not to mention it only cost ten dollars to get in.

The poetry slam at Nuyorican Poets Cafe was very different from the open mic nights I'd attended in Nashville. For one thing, the majority of the poets and audience members were African American, and the audience was much livelier, responding appreciatively with "Mm-hmm," and "Preach!" while the poets read their work. And the poets didn't just read their writing; they performed it, with all the passion, fury, and sadness that they were feeling. Their poems were about topics like what it was like to suffer from PTSD after being date-raped, the anger they felt about young black men getting shot by police officers, the alienation they felt over being biracial, and one in particular stood out: a funny poem by a white guy, who described himself in his poem as "the wokest, whitest, straightest guy who you will ever meet", and went off on a riff about white privilege.

Listening and watching them perform their poetry was like salve on the open wound of my broken heart, and for the first time in a long time, I felt glad that the Model wasn't there with me. He wouldn't have appreciated or understood it in the way that I and the others in the audience did.

I went for a walk in Washington Square Park, and some people invited me and other passers-by to write down short stories on small square pieces of paper that they were handing out. So I did, and then they hung up the story alongside several others on a display they had. It made me happy to know that other people walking through the park could read what I wrote.

I wanted to buy a ticket to a Broadway play, but even the discounted tickets cost eighty dollars, which was more than I could afford. So instead, I managed to get tickets to two different shows for less than forty dollars total: a musical in the Acorn Theater called 68, about the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, and Katie & Julian & Nicholas: Corkscrew Late Night at Paradise Factory, where three "dramaturgs" performed songs from musicals that they had written. One of them described one of his songs as a "burlesque from the point of view of a Confederate statue."

I liked watching the actors perform and sing, except I came down with a sneezing fit during the second show. I think it was due to a combination of several factors: the fact that I'd been walking in the rain in Central Park, the fact that my cheap, dingy hotel room wasn't properly cleaned, or the possibility that one or all of the audience members had rolled around in cat fur before the show (I'm allergic to cats). My nose was literally running throughout the majority of the show. I was sitting at the end of the row near the wall, furthest from the door, and I didn't want to keep getting up to blow my nose in the bathroom during the actors' performances. So I sat there, pulling Kleenex out of my purse again and again and thinking, Don't sneeze don't sneeze don't sneeze ATCHOO! 

I did all the usual touristy things. I got my picture taken with costumed characters in Times Square, who I made sure to tip, of course. I ate a New York style hot dog and slice of pizza. I drank bubble tea in Chinatown and watched Chinese women do Tai Chi in a park. I took the train to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, which I think of a hipster's paradise, and which also reminded me of a cross between Lincoln Park and Wicker Park in Chicago. I browsed in bookstores like Book Thug Nation in Williamsburg, where people were reading out loud to each other. I stopped at a juice bar and asked for an apple juice, and when the barista said, "OK! That'll be six dollars," I tried not to respond like this:


via GIPHY

I also went to the Strand Bookstore in Manhattan, and I bought Waiter's Rant by Steve Dublanica and a Dave Barry book because the genre that I like to read most is memoir, especially memoirs where neurotic, obsessive people write about ordinary things in ways that sound hilarious. That's something that I've always aspired to do in my own writing.

I ate chicken parmigiana in Little Italy and admired the Vermeer paintings that were on display in the Frick Collection. I ate breakfast at Balthazar Bakery, and I watched Broadway actors perform for free in Bryant Park. 


It felt so good to be in a big city again, navigating my way through the crowds, listening to the New York accents and hearing people call out to each other in different languages, including French, Spanish, Chinese, Polish, and German. I didn't even mind (too much) the fact that my hotel room in Chinatown was right by the train, which rumbled loudly all night long and made it difficult for me to sleep. Since I hate driving, it was a relief to be able to walk around or take public transportation to get to where I needed to go, despite the extreme heat and humidity and the fact that I had to spend way too much money on bottled water.

What I loved the most about New York is that it's a city full of artists: actors, musicians, painters, writers, etc. Immersing myself in their work inspired me and motivated me to get back to work on my own writing.

I must admit that I am not over the Model, and it will take me some time to get over him. I will never have what his girlfriend has with him: a real relationship and a life with him. When I first realized that, I felt empty inside. I thought that I would never feel for anyone else what I felt for the Model and that I would spend the rest of my life alone. But that week in New York filled me up, and even though I am not yet whole, I realized that even if I never find true love or happiness with someone, I can have my own happy ending: a life that's filled with poetry, books, writing, travel, walks through big, interesting cities like New York, good food in new places, art, music, etc., etc.

I may never be surprised with a romantic vacation to Mexico for my birthday the way the girlfriend was with the Model, but I can take my own vacation that I paid for with my own money to a place like New York City. His girlfriend may very well end up marrying him, and I must admit that if I make the mistake of looking at her Instagram page again in the future and see their wedding pictures, it will hurt like hell. But on the other hand, she will spend her life with a narcissistic, insensitive, dishonest sociopath who cheated on her (and I'm willing to bet that I'm not the only person he's cheated with, which would explain why he often comes back to College Town without her, because that makes it easier for him to hook up with other people behind her back). And I may end up alone, but I will live my life with the freedom to live on my own terms.

What about you? What does your happy ending look like? If you could go on your dream vacation, where would it be?

I Give Up

I am a horrible person, and I deserve what happened to me because I should have seen the signs. Or rather, I did see the signs, but I chose to ignore them.

When I saw pictures of the Model with another woman on her Instagram page several weeks ago, I was crushed because that made me realize that there really was no hope that I'd ever get to be with him again. But then just a couple weeks after I saw those pictures, he contacted me, saying that he wanted to see me again. He didn't mention that woman, and I didn't ask. He left College Town to go back to his new place in Chicago, but he said he wanted to see me when he got back.

I wanted to believe that that other woman was just someone he was casually dating. After all, she'd only posted a few pictures of him, and they were all recent. Maybe they had just met, and he couldn't be that into her, after all, if he wanted to be with me again, right?

Wrong.

I couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that there was more to this other woman than meets the eye. So I checked out her Instagram page again and looked further. To my dismay and horror, I realized that she was living with him. There were several pictures of her from months ago in her apartment, the same apartment that the Model started photographing himself in as recently as March. That means that he moved in with her less than four months after he dated me, and based on my online sleuthing, they weren't even dating as of January. She mentioned something about "rebuilding" what they had in one of her posts, which made me think that she was an ex (I think she may even be his former fiancee because he'd once mentioned that he'd been engaged before) and they'd gotten back together.

Could it be that they broke up again, and that he reached out to me after the breakup? Wrong again. Two weeks after he and I slept together, he posted pictures of himself on vacation in Mexico. On his Instagram page, he only posts pictures of himself, no one else, because he really is that narcissistic. I knew that if she posted pictures of Mexico, that meant that she was there with him.

Sure enough, a few days later, she posted a series of pictures of the two of them in Mexico: getting massages on the beach, drinking wine while watching the sunset, her sitting on his lap, etc. She bragged about her "beautiful" relationship with him and how he was the perfect guy (if only she knew!). When I saw those pictures, I realized that he was still dating her when he reached out to me that last time. That sociopath used me to cheat on his girlfriend.

When I saw those pictures, my heart broke, and it was like something froze up inside of me. I recognized that feeling. When I was in high school, I had a huge crush on this guy I worked with at my first part-time job. I asked him out, and he said no. At that moment, I felt something freeze up inside of me. That "something" was the belief that I could find happiness with someone and be his girlfriend.

After my high school crush rejected me that day, I withdrew into my work for years. It was better and safer to be a workaholic. I kept my heart closed off all that time because I didn't want to let anyone break it ever again.

I finally realized, however, that it was time to put myself out there and try dating again. I did everything I could think of to meet someone special. I went to a speed-dating party. I joined a youth group at my church and fell for a really great guy, who fell for someone else. I tried seven different online dating sites. I became friends with Small Town Guy, and watched him fall in love with someone else.

And then I met the Model, and all of a sudden it was like I finally understood what all the fuss was about. I know that whatever he and I had wasn't serious. I know that we weren't exclusive. But that didn't stop me from falling hard for him from day one. I should have blocked him the first time he messaged me on Tinder. I could have saved myself months of emotional turmoil.

When I slept with him that last time, I really didn't know that he was in a serious relationship with her. I really did think that they had just met and weren't exclusive yet. There were all these red flags, but I ignored them because I just really wanted to be with him again. That's why I deserve all the pain and heartache that I'm feeling right now. I never should have agreed to see him that night, and if I'd known that he was in a serious relationship I wouldn't have. I'm a horrible, stupid person. But he's worse.

I texted him to tell him that I'd found his girlfriend's Instagram page and seen the pictures of them together. He didn't answer. I texted him again to tell him to delete all the texts we sent each other. I was afraid that she might get suspicious too one day, go through his texts, and find out about me. She might track me down somehow and confront me at the school where I teach. That may seem unlikely, but you hear stories of women angrily confronting "the other woman" all the time. As they say, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned". If she did that to me, my professional reputation would be destroyed and I might even lose my job. And then I'd fight back against BOTH of them as hard as I could because my work is all that I have left and I'll be damned if I let either of them take that away from me.

He didn't answer my other text either. I thought at first that he was too much of a coward to apologize or explain himself, but then I realized that he just doesn't care. He doesn't care that he hurt me because he never cared about me. What I don't understand is why, if his relationship is so perfect with her, he would reach out to me to hook up. It's one thing for him to treat me like crap because he doesn't give a damn about me (although that doesn't justify what he did to me). But it's another thing for him to betray her when he supposedly cares about her.

He still comes back to College Town a lot because his friends and family live here, and he goes to my gym when he comes here. If I see him again, I might do one of several things: 1) "accidentally" drop a weight on his foot; 2) "accidentally" drop my fist on his face; 3) tell the biggest bodybuilder (preferably one with a bad temper) at the gym that the Model hit on his girlfriend; or 4) ask him why he did that and tell him that it is not okay to treat me like that.

The Model's girlfriend has no idea that he's a cheating liar with no conscience. She gets to live "happily ever after" with him, and he gets away scot-free with cheating on her and breaking my heart. And I get nothing.

Unlike the Model's girlfriend, I am no longer a romantic. I am a cynic, and can you really blame me? I'm thirty-seven years old, and I've been on many bad dates with the wrong guys and failed to make a real, lasting connection with any of them. I'm sick and tired of trying. Maybe this is the universe's way of telling me that I don't get to have a "happy ending" with anyone and that I'm meant to be alone for the rest of my life.

That feeling I had that day that my high school crush rejected me, that feeling where I felt my heart closing up against everyone else, is back, stronger than ever. My Bumble membership expires next week, and I'm not going to renew it. I'm going to renew my focus on my workaholic life because at least there, I can focus on becoming a respected scholar, continue climbing the academic ladder as a college professor, and also devote myself to my writing too. At least those things can make me happy, unlike a narcissistic sociopath with no conscience. If I'm meant to find love, I'm going to let it find me, because I'm done trying. I'm just done, period.

If you were me, would you confront him? Or would you just ignore him? (And don't worry, I'm not going to tell his girlfriend what happened. She probably wouldn't believe me, especially because the Model is a master manipulator and would convince her that I was lying.)

P.S. I'm sorry about the negative tone of my post. It was either write about it or down a bottle of liquor. I figured it was better to do the former.

A Different Version of Myself

Last week, I decided to rejoin Bumble, the online dating app, and signed up for a one-month membership. The very next day, the Model texted me.

I was surprised and baffled to hear from him, to say the least. He ghosted me more than six months ago, and when he texted me, he didn't apologize for what he did or explain why he did it. Instead, he said that he had been thinking about me and wanted to see me.

There were several ways I could have responded:

1. I could have taken a picture of my hand and texted it to him, saying, "Talk to the hand!" (What? I grew up in the nineties.)

2. I could have said, "I can't. I'm dating someone who's much nicer and richer than you are."

3. I could have said, "Why the HELL did you ghost me? Unless you went into hiding from the mob, there is NO EXCUSE for what you did!"

4. I could have said, "Who is that Ann Coulter lookalike you hung out with in Chicago? I saw her Instagram page, and everyone knows that when you show up in someone else's pictures on Instagram, that means you're in a relationship." (God, I sound like one of my students. I spend so much time with them that sometimes I end up talking like them, even though I don't understand half of what they say. They keep saying things like, "She's so extra," and I'm just like, "Extra WHAT?")

5. I could have texted him a picture of a pint of ice cream and said, "Do you even realize how much ice cream I've eaten since you left?"

But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I agreed to meet him for drinks. The truth is, I never got over him. I've thought about him a lot, and even though I knew it was unlikely to happen, I always hoped I would hear from him again.

When I saw him in those pictures with Little Miss Push Up Bra, I thought all hope was lost. That's why I signed up for the Bumble membership. When the Model texted me the next day, I thought at first that someone had hacked his phone and was pretending to be him. But it really was him.

When I saw him again, he looked even more handsome than I remembered. I didn't ask him about that other woman. I should have, but I didn't. I was just really happy to see him. He told me about how he'd moved to Chicago, but since he was originally from College Town, he still came back occasionally to visit his friends and family. He told me about his new job and asked me what was going on in my life.

Later, when he took me into his arms, I didn't pull away. When he kissed me, I kissed him back. And when he asked me to spend the night with him, I didn't say no. Maybe I should have, but I didn't because I knew that I definitely would have regretted turning down the chance to be with him again. I don't want to go into too much detail about what happened, but let's just say there were fireworks. It was more passionate than all the other times I've been with him.

He went back to Chicago a few days later, but he said he wants to see me again when he comes back to College Town later this summer.

"Don't answer his texts next time," one of my friends advised me when I told her about it. "He just wants to hook up. Move on with your life, and find someone else."

The rational part of my brain knows that she's right. I want more than what he's given me. Last fall, we only dated for a few weeks and weren't in a serious relationship, but it still hurt like hell when he made it clear that he wasn't interested anymore. I've been rejected by guys before, but this was different. I've never felt this way about anyone before.

Last year, when I had a crush on Small Town Guy, it all made sense, even though he didn't feel the same way about me. Small Town Guy and I had a lot in common, and it felt like he was the type of guy I should be with. We liked the same books, had similar interests, and I felt comfortable with him. (Incidentally, he's still with his girlfriend, and they often gush about how they have the best significant other in the world on Facebook. That's right. They're one of THOSE couples.) I was attracted to him, but it wasn't close to being the same kind of overwhelming physical attraction that I felt for the Model. Once I realized that Small Town Guy didn't feel the same way, I accepted it, and I moved on with my life.

But the Model is different from all the guys I've dated or had crushes on. And when I'm with him, it's like I become this different version of myself: someone who's impulsive, bold, and sexy. But he also makes me feel more neurotic and anxious than any other guy I've met, and I don't like that. I also don't like the fact that that other woman lives in Chicago, which means that if he really is dating her (or is still seeing her), she'll get to spend more time with him this summer than I can.

It's easier when I can just focus on my workaholic life, rather than dating, because it's safe there. The Model is like the guy that is often described in romance novels: the kind of guy that you know you should stay from, but you can't help yourself because there's something about him that draws you back every time.

I know that if I keep seeing him, I most likely won't get that happy ending in romance novels because I don't think he wants what I want. But letting him go means never seeing him or being with him again. And it's hard to feel excited about meeting guys on Bumble now, especially since I just read a guy's profile where he stated, "Me: the best guy you'll ever meet. You: Don't be a crazy."

What about you? Have you ever fallen for someone (and found it difficult to let them go) that you knew couldn't give you what you wanted?

P.S. I hope that this post doesn't significantly lower your opinion of me. I normally do the right thing, and in every other part of my life, I do what I'm supposed to do. But the Model makes me forget about all my rules.

Writing My Way out of Here

I read a book called Letters to a Fiction Writer, which is a collection of letters and essays on writing by various authors. One of the authors, Ann Beattie, described living in a small town in Connecticut. She described what went through her head as she wrote in that small town: "I am going to write my way out of here."

That line resonates with me as I work on my dissertation. When I was an undergrad and when I was studying for my master's degree, I did well as a young scholar. But when I was in the PhD program, I started struggling just to keep up with the other grad students. It didn't help that unlike them, I didn't have a family member or student loans to support me financially; I worked two or three jobs instead. But the problem was that it left me with little time to study, and I ended up disappointing my professors and myself on more than one occasion.

It wasn't just because of my extra jobs that I struggled to do well in school. It was also because of the fact that I never really fit in with the other academics. I became an English major because I loved literature and poetry. I wanted to become a professor so that I could inspire other students to love literature and poetry as much as I did. But the problem with academia is that we often spend hours talking about everything BUT literature and poetry; the focus is typically on critical theory instead.

I'd sit there during lectures and conferences and put on my "I totally understand what you're saying" face, though most of the time I didn't understand. And I felt like an idiot compared to most of the other grad students, who did understand. They went on to publish articles, present their work at conferences, and win fellowships. I just struggled to keep up. I worked hard; I tried again and again to measure up to my professors' expectations, but I usually fell short. And the fact that my work wasn't good enough made me feel like I wasn't good enough. When you're a workaholic, you define yourself by your work; it's hard to think positively about yourself when your work isn't going well.

Maybe I should have dropped out of graduate school years ago. But I stayed because I loved teaching. Even though I didn't become a good scholar, I became a good teacher, and I have hundreds of positive evaluations from students to prove it. Many of my students signed up for more than one class with me, which always made me feel good. Several of them would come up to me at the end of each term and tell me how much they enjoyed my class or how I was their favorite teacher.

I did encounter many "difficult" students (which is an understatement), as every teacher does. But even those experiences made me stronger, because they taught me to assert myself and not back down.

I still feel a rush of excitement and happiness every time I'm in a classroom, sharing what I know with my students. I think that the classroom is one of the places where I am happiest, aside from bookstores, libraries, and Starbucks (I tried to live without coffee for a week, but I was practically climbing the walls by the end so I had to go back to my caffeinated life.). I love when students have that "aha" moment when they finally understand what I've been telling them. I love when some of them tell me that they enjoyed a particular author that we studied so much that they went out to read more books by that person. I love when they get excited over what they're learning.

But unfortunately, the search committees for many colleges are going to care a lot more about my work as a scholar than my work as a teacher. And I have a sinking feeling that I'm never going to become a tenured professor at a university. I'll be lucky if I get a job as a full-time lecturer at a small college or a community college, and the thing about lectureships is that they usually only last for a few years at a time. 

Maybe I should have become a high school teacher instead of a college teacher, because at least then I could have focused more on being a teacher instead of a scholar. But I don't like how high school teachers are treated in this country. They're underpaid, overworked, and typically blamed for all of the schools and students' problems. They're often forced to spend more time teaching students how to take tests than how to understand subjects that matter more. I've taught high school, and even though I enjoyed working with the students, it was a very different dynamic from working on a college campus.

Often I sit down to work on my dissertation and I feel so paralyzed that I don't know what to write. I feel so overwhelmed by how much work there is still left to do, and I'm afraid that my work will never be good enough to satisfy my professors (and myself).

What I've finally realized is that I need to stop focusing so much on what other people think and just get my dissertation done. Like Ann Beattie, I am going to write my way out of here. And by "here" I mean grad school, my sense of inadequacy, my fears about the future, and all the other things that have dragged me down all these years.

I just want to finish my dissertation and finally move on to the next stage in my life. I'll probably never be a tenured professor. I'm still going to try and find a good teaching job somewhere. As long as I get to teach at a good school, write, and earn enough money to satisfy my caffeine cravings, I'll be happy. I still feel scared about what's going to happen in the future, but I'm also determined to write my way towards the future that I want.

What about you? Do you ever feel anxious about the future? How do you deal with it?

I Resolve...

To stop letting my jealousy and insecurity keep me from writing. 

Grad school is very competitive, especially for people working on their Ph.D.s in English. We all know that there are way too many people with graduate degrees and not enough teaching jobs, so we have to put in 110% in order to survive in academia. Sometimes it makes me feel like it's "every academic for himself/herself", only instead of battling it out with swords in a duel we're debating each other with critical theories and academic jargon in a conference room.

Since all the grad students pick different areas of literature, poetry, rhetoric, or creative writing to focus on, we are not all necessarily competing for the same jobs. But before each academic presentation or lecture, the speaker is usually introduced by someone else who lists that speaker's accomplishments. It makes me feel jealous and insecure because I can't help thinking about how short my list would be if I was the one being introduced.

I feel self-conscious whenever people ask me, "So, how far along are you on your dissertation?" after they've just finished making it sound like their dissertation is so good that even people who aren't scholars will want to read it. It also makes me want to invite that person out to lunch and sneeze on his or her fork when he or she isn't looking.

Because of that jealousy and insecurity, it makes me feel even more pressured and nervous when I sit down to work on my dissertation. This past year in particular was difficult for me, and I became so discouraged that I often let my jealousy of others and my insecurity keep me from writing. I shouldn't have done that.

I do not resolve to never feel jealous or insecure again. These feelings are natural, and they're part of what makes me human. Instead, I know that I should use those feelings to motivate me to work hard, so that hopefully one day I'll have something to brag about. And in a way, I can't blame the other academics for wanting to talk about their success. They earned it.

I think it's similar to what fiction writers go through too. It's natural for us to feel jealous of writers who get book deals, movie deals, big-name agents or publishers, etc. But what's key is that we can't let our jealousy keep us from working on our own writing. I think that it's okay to envy someone else's success, as long as we focus more on our own work and success than on others'.

Here's a nice video I found about Natalie Goldberg's views on NaNoWriMo and how it's important to "keep showing up" to write. Her words made me feel better and reminded me that I need to keep showing up too.

 
I resolve to cook and eat healthier foods. If the cast of Jersey Shore can cook, then I should be able to learn how to cook too. Normally I eat in the school cafeteria when I'm on campus, but even though some of the food tastes okay, other times I start thinking that maybe all those jokes about cafeteria food making people vomit are actually based on the truth. I also buy meals that are already prepared at the grocery store, like those roasted chickens or stuff from the salad bar or deli. But that's expensive, and I can't afford to keep doing that.

So I've already looked up a few recipes online and am going to try them. I might end up setting my clothes on fire like the last time I tried cooking, or maybe I'll take a bite and immediately spit it out like the previous three times I tried to cook something. But practice makes perfect, right? Or at least practice will make the food edible. And cooking healthier foods will save me money and calories.

I do not resolve to stop eating junk food altogether. I love chocolate. I also love Coke so much that I actually had a dream about driving off into the sunset in a Coca-Cola delivery truck. But I'm not addicted to soda. I mean, I've only had that dream once...a day. But still.

Every time I eat junk food (and I do try to eat it in moderation), I go to the gym afterwards to make up for it. And the regular exercise is good for me too.

That's why I think that vices and flaws can be good things, because they can motivate us to change our habits or improve our lives as a whole. I do make New Year's resolutions every year, but I try to be realistic about the kinds of resolutions I make, so that I'll be more likely to keep them. For example, I can't make resolutions like, "I resolve that I will never fantasize again about the cast of Riverdance dancing on my students' cell phones so that the students will FINALLY stop texting during class," or "I resolve to stop thinking of insults I'd like to say to people I don't like (though I never actually say them), such as "You do realize that when you make yourself sound more important than everyone else, you sound like every reality show cast member on VH1 and Bravo, right? And do you really want people to think you're like one of the Real Housewives or Bret Michaels?" I don't bother making those kinds of resolutions, because I'd never keep them.

What about you? What are some of your vices or flaws? What kinds of resolutions did you make, if any?

Side note: Sorry that I haven't commented on some of your blogs lately. I'm still having that problem I had before, on posts that require commenters to leave their e-mail addresses in addition to their screennames and the option of leaving a link to their blogs/websites. In the past when I left a comment, the link went to my blog, like it's supposed to. But now it links to my e-mail account, which means that anyone who clicks on it can access my e-mail. So I haven't been leaving comments on those posts that require e-mail addresses; I'm just going to have to figure out how to resolve that in the meantime. But I am reading your blogs, I promise!

The Grass Is Always Greener

A few weeks ago, I ran into a classmate that I've always thought of as my Grad School Nemesis. She asked me, "Have you published any articles yet?"

She knew very well that I haven't. In academia, it's very important that you publish articles in academic journals that nobody else but other scholars read. The titles of the articles are stuff like "Daddy Issues in Frankenstein" and "If You Use Enough Academic Jargon, Everyone Will Think You're Smarter than They Are" and "A Marxist (Over) Analysis of the Economic Hierarchy in The Great Gatsby." (Okay. So those aren't the real titles. But they might as well be, if you've ever read the articles.)

I was tempted to respond, "I haven't published any articles yet, but I have learned some very effective moves in my kick-boxing class. Allow me to demonstrate," or "If your head keeps getting bigger, you're going to start scaring people into thinking that you're Godzilla."

Grad School Nemesis went on to brag about the articles that she'd published in academic journals and the prestigious conferences that she'd been to. She knows that I haven't accomplished as much as she has in our field, which I think is one reason why she always makes sure that I know all about how well she's doing.

I've never been a very good scholar. I was always more interested in teaching, partly because it's the one job I've ever had that I'm actually good at. My students drive me up the wall sometimes, but I keep showing up in the classroom every day because that's where I want to be. It makes me think of the movie Tenure. Luke Wilson plays a college professor who is pressured to publish more academic articles and books in order to get tenure, but he's a better teacher than he is a scholar. Watching that movie made me feel better, because it made me feel like I'm not the only person who struggles in academia.

I've been feeling depressed lately because of the fact that it's going to take me an extra year to complete my Ph.D., especially because my graduate funding will run out next year. So it doesn't help when people like my Grad School Nemesis keep bragging about how they're doing better than I am and then make condescending comments about how I've failed to measure up.

It's one thing to feel jealous of people you don't know. I wrote a post a while ago about how I felt jealous of Snooki, because she got a book deal (and now I hear she's got ANOTHER book deal), even though she's not really a writer. She just lets someone else do the writing for her. But it's another thing to feel jealous of people you do know, because it hits close to home. In the back of your mind you keep thinking, "If they can succeed, why can't I?" And that makes it even harder to accept it when you don't get what you want, while they keep getting what they want.

Anne Lamott wrote a very good chapter about jealousy in her book Bird by Bird. She said that it was normal to feel jealous, and it was also okay to not feel happy for the people that you're jealous of. We are only human after all, and everyone has their limits. Reading it made me realize how insensitive people like my Grad School Nemesis are, especially because they know how I've been having a hard time just trying to keep up with everyone else. I might not be able to tape the lips shut of my Grad School Nemesis, but I can limit my interactions with her so that I don't have to listen to her anymore. And that's something, at least.

Are there people in your life who constantly brag about their accomplishments? How do you deal with it when you feel jealous?

A Salesgirl's Requests

Recently, there was a big fuss over a list of "diva demands" that the singer Katy Perry made. When she performed in a concert at Australia, she had very specific instructions for her dressing room: "a dressing room draped in cream or soft pink, with two comfortable egg chairs, a 'perspex modern style' coffee table and two 'french ornate style floor lamps." She also had a very specific driver's policy: "chauffeurs must not start a conversation with Katy, stare at her through the rear view mirror, or ask for autographs or pictures, especially while driving."

I've heard of other "diva demands" that celebrities make. For example, I read an article that said that Van Halen demands "a bowl of M&Ms with the brown ones removed" and Cher demands "a separate room for her wigs". Whenever I hear these types of stories about celebrities,  I'm more amused than anything else. They're famous, they're rich, and they let their "power" go to their heads a little (or a lot).

But it made me think of what it would be like if "ordinary" workers like me could make demands of their employers. For example, I recently started a new part-time job selling overpriced souvenirs at the Tourist Trap. It made me reflect on all the retail jobs that I've had over the past several years. I wouldn't dare to actually present my retail employers with a list of demands, because I would definitely get in trouble and possibly lose my job. (Either that or I'd be given a list of b.s. reasons why the employers can't or won't fulfill those demands.) But I thought of a few "requests" that I wish I could make.

1. Give me a uniform that actually fits. All the retail jobs that I've had set up very strict dress codes for their employees: no tattoos, no dyed hair, no "inappropriate piercings", no T-shirts that say "This store SUCKS and everyone who shops here is a SUCKER." Dress codes don't bother me, especially because I wore a uniform for twelve years of Catholic school.

But if you're going to make me wear a uniform with the store's logo printed all over it, do you think you could give me a uniform that isn't two or three sizes too big? And also? If you're going to schedule me to work three days in a row, do you think you could give me more than one uniform? That way I won't have to hand wash my uniform every night (I'm not getting paid enough to use the coin-operated laundry machine more than once a week) or make the choice to not wash my uniform and then worry about customers backing away from me and wrinkling their noses, saying, "What's that smell?"

2. Ease up on the pressure about the "add-ons". When you go shopping, do you ever feel slightly annoyed because the cashier or the salesperson tries to get you to "add on" to the purchase by suggesting additional items that you could buy? Or does the cashier ever try to pressure you to sign up for the store credit card?

It used to annoy me too, until I had to do the same thing at all my retail jobs. FYI, most salespeople don't really want to pressure you to buy something that you don't really need. We also don't like reciting the same sales pitch a hundred (or more) times a day. But we also have supervisors and managers breathing down our necks (this is literally true; sometimes they'll stand there and watch us interact with customers, and then when the customers leave the managers will tell us everything we did wrong) to make sure that we get customers to "add on" to their purchases.

Doing these things helps the store make money. The salespeople are given sales quotas to fulfill each day, and if we don't make our quotas, then one of several things could happen: 1) one of the managers will take us aside and counsel us on how to do our jobs more effectively; 2) we won't get as many shifts as the people who do make their quotas; 3) we won't get chosen as Employee of the Month, and then we won't get the extra few bucks added to our paychecks or the gift card to a restaurant that we couldn't afford to get into otherwise on our paltry wages.

3. If you're not going to let me earn a commission, at least let me keep the tips that customers try to give me. Occasionally a nice customer will have a few cents in change but will tell me to keep it. What the customer doesn't know, however, is that I'm not allowed to keep it. Baristas at coffeehouses are allowed to get tips, but cashiers at retailers are not.

Don't get me wrong. Since I work in retail and not food service, I don't expect tips. It's not like I'm going to set out a "Tips" cup by the cash register. But if a customer offers me a tip, I'd like to keep it, especially since it usually only adds up to a dollar or two a day. And seeing as how the store makes more money in one day than I do in a year, would it really be losing any money if I were to keep those tips? I don't keep them, but it'd be nice if I could. It's not like I'm taking money out of the register, and I would never do that either.

4. Positive reinforcement doesn't mean as much as a salary that I could actually live on. At one of my retail jobs, we were given stickers if we made our sales quota for the day. Getting stickers for good work made me happy when I was ten. But now that I'm thirty and I have expenses that don't include bubble gum and Sweet Valley Twins books, a sticker isn't going to mean much to me. Or my landlord.

I admit that it is nice when my employers praise me for a job well done. But you know what else would be nice? Not having to worry about how I'm going to pay my rent when the store cuts my hours because it's providing paid training to a new group of employees or because it's not making enough money.

5. Please stop micro-managing me. The thing about working in retail is that there are always at least half a dozen supervisors and managers who are watching my every move. I can understand why they want to make sure that every employee is doing his or her job, because one of their main concerns is the bottom line. It is a business after all, and they need to make sure that the store is making money.

But please don't make me refold a whole stack of sweaters that I've been folding for the past ten minutes just because all the size stickers don't perfectly line up, especially since the next group of customers is going to undo the whole stack in five seconds. Please don't reprimand me because I didn't greet that one customer because I was busy refolding those sweaters. Please don't remind me six times in one shift to get as many customers to "add on" to their purchases as possible. Please don't lecture the staff about communication issues if I can't get a straight answer from you about why I didn't get a significant raise (or any raise at all) after working for the store for one year or more. It can be really frustrating to have half a dozen people telling me what to do, and it can be even more frustrating when they keep telling me the same thing over and over and over again, especially if I'm not even making any mistakes. (It's like they're the Energizer Bunnies of retail.)

6. Give me a more reasonable amount of time for breaks. It's not unusual to only get one ten minute break in a five hour shift, or to only get one half-hour lunch break in a six hour shift. On my last shift, I got to sit down for exactly five minutes. That's because it took me more than twenty minutes to navigate the crowd of tourists at the food court, get the free soda that all the employees were raving about as one of our "perks" for working at the store, and find my way back to the breakroom. From now on, I'm just going to bring my lunch, but it's hard to figure out what to bring because there's no refrigerator where I can store it.

I did say that I am grateful to have part-time jobs that can help me pay the bills while I am in graduate school. When I took this job at Tourist Trap, I thought about holding on to it even after the summer ended. It would mean extra money that I could definitely use. But I already have my hands full during the school year with my dissertation, teaching, and my website job; I'm not sure if I could take on another job. I don't think I want to, especially because after my last shift, I came home so tired that I immediately went to bed and slept for four hours. I woke up at ten P.M. and was too tired to eat dinner, so I went back to sleep again and slept through the night. I haven't been that exhausted since I was an adjunct with three jobs, working seven days a week. So it's in situations like these that I don't feel grateful so much as just worn out, angry, and bitter because I can't do anything to change the way retail employees are treated. And I feel even more worn out when I think about how I can't just quit, because I need this job.

Now that I think about it, it does bother me when divas like Katy Perry (though I do love her music) make outrageous demands, especially since "commoners" like me aren't in a position to make demands of our employers. If I were to present any of my retail employers with these requests, I'm fairly certain that there would be at least a dozen people waiting to take my job if I were to "act out" too much.

If you could present your employer with a list of "demands", what would they be? (I'm not suggesting you actually do this.) But if you could do it, what kinds of things would you ask for?

It's Not Easy Being Green...with Envy

Everyone gets jealous. But we're often told that we shouldn't feel envious of what others have or what they can do. We're told not to compare ourselves to others because it'll just make us feel bad. We're told to be happy with what we do have and what we can do.

But I think that jealousy can be a good thing, to a certain extent. You don't have to let it consume you. There are some cases where jealousy can motivate you to do better. There are other cases where it can help you realize that you'll never have what other people have, but that's okay because you can have other things instead.

For example, when I work out at the gym, I sometimes can't help feeling envious of certain girls who exercise there. They're the girls whose shorts are up to here and whose tops are down to there, and all the cute guys are checking them out. Some of the girls who look like they're a size 2 or smaller often have buff boyfriends in tow. One thing I've noticed is that after each set, the boyfriends will meet up with their girlfriends to mop their faces with the towels they're carrying for them, compliment them for lifting those extra five pounds, or possibly so they can look down their girlfriends' tops again.

I, on the other hand, wear gym clothes that keep me covered up, partly because I'm far from a size 2; it's also partly because I tend to dress so conservatively that probably even nuns would tell me to lighten up.

When I first started going to the gym, I wanted to look like those thin girls who I envied not because of their buff boyfriends (okay, I'm totally lying; I was a little envious of them because of that), but because they were thin. I'd seen them drink soda and eat ice cream outside of the gym and they never seemed to gain weight, whereas I could gain five pounds just by looking at a piece of cake.

Most of the other women at the gym look more like me or are bigger, yet I can't help feeling self-conscious about the way I look and comparing myself to the girls with slim figures. But I know that women come in different shapes and sizes, and you don't have to be skinny to be beautiful. I've accepted the fact that I'll never be a size 2, not only because I love junk food too much but also because I'm just not built that way.

But because I felt envious of those girls, I started working out more and more. And then I started enjoying exercise, because it also gave me the chance to listen to music or read a magazine while I worked out. It gave me a break from grading papers and doing research, and I didn't have to feel guilty about taking the time off because I was still doing something productive.

Then I started attending the classes that my gym offered, and I found that it was fun to work out with other people. Every time I went to another class I looked forward to the rush of endorphins I got after the class was over. Exercise became less about comparing myself to the girls who were thinner than me, and it became more about making myself look and feel good. I went from a size 12 to a size 8.

Jealousy affects other aspects of my life. For example, recently there was a big fuss because Snooki from the TV show Jersey Shore was paid more money than Toni Morrison to give a speech at Rutgers University. I will admit that I watch the Jersey Shore because those kids say the stupidest things, like how Snooki said that she refuses to swim in the ocean because it's full of whale sperm. But then I heard that she got paid more money for one day than I earn in a year. Did I wish I had the power to ban her from every bar, club, and tanning salon in the country, and then did I imagine myself pointing and laughing while she wept at the injustice of it all? Hell, yes.

(Side note: When I heard about that story, I didn't wonder why they paid Snooki so much money. I wondered how many of those students at that school have actually watched Jersey Shore and how many of them have read Toni Morrison's books. I read a news article that said that Rutgers wouldn't have invited Snooki if they didn't think that a lot of people would show up to hear her speak. Would I have gone? Yes. But I also would have gone to see Toni Morrison too.)

I have to admit that I feel envious of celebrities like Snooki, not just because they earn all that money but also because it's so easy for them to get novels published. They decide they want to be authors, and then within months their books are out on display at all the bookstores; tons of people show up at their booksignings, and the celebrity authors probably never have to read a single rejection letter.

But on the other hand, I wouldn't want to be like them, because from what I've heard a lot of them don't even write most (if not all) of their books. They hire ghostwriters instead. Nothing against ghostwriters of course, but in my opinion I think that the books belong more to the ghostwriters rather than the celebrity authors; even if the celebrities come up with the concepts of the books, in some sense it's still the ghostwriters' voices that the readers are hearing.

If I ever do get published, I want my books to be mine. I'm not saying that I wouldn't want input from agents and editors. They would know more about the publishing industry than I do, and they would know what would make a book appealing to audiences. But I want to publish a book knowing that it came from my ideas and my imagination. I don't just want to be published for the sake of being able to call myself an author.

So when I hear about celebrity authors like Snooki, it motivates me to keep writing. It makes me think about how maybe I might never draw the same number of readers as they do, but at least I can still work on writing books that are funny, honest and real. And hopefully, all that envy and motivation will help me accomplish my goal someday.

What about you? Who are you jealous of, and how do you deal with that jealousy?