library school feelings, pt 2
I got the job!!!!!!!!!!!
library school feelings
I haven’t talked about this much, but I took a big leap by going to grad school last fall. It was scary, financially. It’s still scary.
My first year, I didn’t get an assistantship or find any funding sources. More loans. (I come from a part-lower middle class, part-working class family — different parts of my family have different class realities — and I’m the first in my immediate family to get a BA.)
Since then I’ve volunteered like hell. I do one-on-one computer classes in a low-income neighborhood branch public library. I do collection development at a branch of our University library. I’ve taken workshops, I’ve “networked,” I’ve taught, I’ve picked up an hourly job. Good things. But when I apply for assistantships—positions with tuition waivers and health coverage—I’ve struck out in every interview. Ugh.
Competition is fierce, even for a research assistant gig. People at school always say these positions are designed to help give you pre-professional experience. But the required qualifications are often ultra-specific, and the jobs? Needles in haystacks. Everyone’s more qualified.
Today I have an interview at my favorite departmental library on campus, where I volunteer. My hands are sweaty and I keep thinking how I can’t go on if I don’t find funding for my second year of study. I wish it wasn’t like this. I guess I just needed to write something, somewhere, about how terrible this is.
Friday night options
Cough at home
Cough on white dudes who invade my space at the Cloud Rat show
Send in your votes now!
"Lovers’ reading of each other’s bodies (of that concentrate of mind and body which lovers use to go to bed together) differs from the reading of written pages in that it is not linear. It starts at any point, skips, repeat itself, goes backward, insists, ramifies in simultaneous and divergent messages, converges again, has moments of irritation, turns the page, finds its place, gets lost. A direction can be recognized in it, a route to an end, since it tends toward a climax, and with this end in view it arranges rhythmic phases, metrical scansions, recurrence of motives. But is the climax really the end? Or is the race toward that end opposed by another drive which works in the opposite direction, swimming against moments, recovering time?"
— Italo Calvino, If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler (via vulturechow)