I am fully aware that I have gone without posting for over a month now. Whoever is reading this has my sincere apologies and, like any good graduate student, I fully intend on blaming my digital hiatus on the stresses imposed on me by my school. In fact, since going back to school (on August 23rd, to be exact), I have been so mentally riddled with nonsense that all the good bloggy ideas I do have fall by the wayside, never to be transformed into an actual post (some non-existent posts that have fallen victim to this include “Hu Are You?” -a review of my local Chinese restaurant/analysis of my first day of school; “Somewhere Beyond the Bay” -a ‘greatest hits’ post highlighting my eating adventures while visiting my boo’s hometown up in NorCal; “Baby Love Benihana” -a mini photo chronicle of Nick’s second year as a Benihaha birthday boy; “Miss Bucca, 1963″ -an account of my retro-inspired foray into Rosemary Clooney and lasagna recipes).
Still, it seems that all I was waiting for was this lazy Sunday afternoon to draw me back into my dining world, with thoughts of food and future bubbling around in my head.
For the past few days, I have been wallowing in renewed stress about my current lack of employment. With my graduation creeping up on me (May 2011), the fact that I have yet to find legitimate means to an income has morphed itself into an omnipresent monster that absolutely insists on monopolizing all my energy. The Huffington Post’s The (Un)Employment Chronicles helped to alleviate my stress…and simultaneously make it rocket into a new stratosphere.
The good news: I’m not the only person being emotionally and financially crippled by my total inability to plan my life beyond the next few days. The bad news: there are just that many more people who are going to be competing against me when I’m finally forced into a full-time job search.
Let me just back track a little and explain one of the things that plunged me into this state in the first place. A few days ago, I went on a job interview. The position was hardly my dream job. On the contrary, it was something that I undertook more because it was just something I could do rather than something I really wanted to do. And what’s more, they were going to be playing me $25+/hour (in case you didn’t know, that’s about $25+/hour more than I’m currently making).
Nevertheless, I went with an open mind and an upbeat, please-hire-me attitude. The interview went great. Everyone I talked to loved me. As I was walking out the door, I was basically told that, barring some unforeseen catastrophe, the job was as good as mine.
Two days later, unforeseen catastrophe decided to leave me a voicemail. Someone else had come in to interview who had just a little more experience than I did, and under the given circumstances, a position just couldn’t be offered to me anymore. Damn, just when I thought I was finally going to be able to adopt my dog after all.
School stress was mounting. Unemployment stress was through the roof. What could I possibly have left in my life that wasn’t going to push me headlong into fits of tears? Food, as it turns out. And a nice, old nun in Hollywood.
I met Sister Mary Pia almost a year ago while working on a piece about nuns in Los Angeles. Back then, my emotional instability was reaching a legendary high. My grandmother had recently passed and, coupled with the outrageous anxiety I was a feeling as a first-year graduate student, I was experiencing mini freak outs about three times a week. Now, it may not have been the most journalistic thing to do, but after I got my interview from her, I turned my voice recorder off and just let all my troubles spill out before me. Her tiny voice offered me prayer and comfort, like any sweet nun would do, and I gladly took whatever peace she provided.
This year, on another journalistic mission, I sought Sister Mary Pia out again and, slightly less tearful than the first time, told her about my job frustration. It’s a shame she’s not a grandmother herself. Her skills as a nurturer are well-honed and, mixed with a healthy dose of unconditional flattery, assured me that my skills would surely lead me to something great, and that I only needed to keep my spirits up.
True, she did try to convince me that employment as a writer for a Catholic magazine was a good route to take. But then again, what grandmother doesn’t dole out advice with just a touch of agenda pushing?
Prayer and positive thinking have not yet delivered my dream job to me, nor have they had my loans forgiven, or paid the adoption fee for my dog. But I did leave the Monastery of the Angels–and the Monastery of the Angels gift shop– that day a little more cheerful than when I went in, and with $20 worth of home-baked snacks. Pumpkin bread and peanut brittle –who knew that was the ideal prescription for the temporary relief of life’s headaches?
Tags: Comfort Food, Los Angeles, Love, Massiel, Nuns, school, Stress
