It’s angry frustration venting day!

Hello Open Diary.  It’s been a looooooong time.  How have you been?

I could be better.

Student teaching was wonderful.  There was laughter and tears, and, most importantly, lessons learned and lessons taught.

Now I’m done.  That’s it.  College career over.  I’m applying for jobs like mad.  I’m not getting any.  I’m not even getting interviews.  Out of the 7 of us who graduated with English Education degrees last month, 4 already have JOBS.  Not just interviews, full on "I signed the contract" jobs.  6 have had interviews.  If you do the math, you realize I’M THE ONLY ONE who hasn’t had one yet.  Yay for inadequacy.  I have nothing going for me on paper.  3.41 GPA is apparently shit on a principal’s shoe.

It’s early.  I know it is. But that doesn’t mean it’s not frustrating to feel so inadequate.

So anyway, on to what’s really bothering me.

This morning, the 4th person posted in our Facebook group that she accepted a job in Marshfield, somewhere I kind of seriously wanted to teach.  I love her, and I’m happy for her, but every time someone posts that they’ve gotten a job I get a little bit more upset.

A half an hour later, I get a rejection email from a school in Brookfield – another place I would have enjoyed working. That was my second rejection letter in a week, the first being from Whitefish Bay that was sent to me and read WHILE I was bringing things up on the SMART Board in a class.  So there, with the second rejection, start the water works. 

About an hour after that, I get a phone call from the mechanic.

You see, my beloved Purple Bubble just plain wouldn’t turn on on Tuesday night.  I knew something was up and had been making attempts to fix it for a while, changing the spark plugs, putting stuff in the oil, putting stuff in the gas… nothing was working.  I was out for drinks with the girl who got that job in Marshfield, Katie, and when I went to drive home … nothing.  The engine turned over, but she wouldn’t actually start.

So, after pushing the lovely lady the mile home with the help of a few friends, she got towed the next morning to a shop nearby.

He finally got to her this morning, and when he called he pretty much told me to scrap her.  The repairs would cost probably more than the car is worth, and she’d just break down again and fairly soon, according to the guy.  He called her an "antique vehicle."

I love my Purple Bubble.  She got me through college, she drove me from Milwaukee to Menomonie and back again so many times.  She was what finally convinced some of my students that I’m insane about the color purple.  She was my baby, my first car, my transition into adulthood.  Now I’m being told she’s effectively scrap metal.

When I got the call, I cried.  Even though I was in the middle of a coffee house, eating my lunch and reading.  I cried, and not the wussy sniffly kind of crying, either.  The full-out sobbing, giant teardrops rolling down my face in utter desperation kind of crying.  After a few minutes, I sober up, make some calls, and try to get things sorted out before officially letting go of my baby.

Just now, I got my third rejection email.

So, life. I’m begging you.  Leave me alone for a little while.  I hate crying, and I’ve reached my quota for the month.