To answer everyone's questions: I'm letting the cards fall as they will.

For the past 234 days, I have been waiting for my future to start. I have been searching for alternatives to a full-time job. I have been living with my parents. I have been mopping the floors and cleaning the bathrooms at a local coffee shop just to pay the bills. I have been doubting the use of a college education. I have been imagining alternatives involving Caribbean waters, boats and far away destinations. I have been waiting. I have been wondering. I have been doubtful. I have been scared.

When I began searching for jobs, I applied only to those that I absolutely wanted. I applied to the dream jobs. After about two months, I widened my pool. After four months, I widened it a little bit more. After five, I took a food services job and widened my pool more. After six, I began applying to all administrative jobs I could find. After seven, I began applying to volunteer positions with Americorps and PeaceCorps. At this point I have probably applied to over 500 jobs, many of which I am extremely overqualified for.

Last week, I received a variety of different phone calls/emails. Americorps, the Arts Council of the Twin Counties, Clinton Arts Council, and a previous job re post all wanted to schedule interviews with me to discuss positions I had previously applied to. I was swamped with my job at FPC, working 8-4 shifts, managing to present a happy facade as I fueled my body with caffeine. The heat was unbearable for many days at a time. My emotions strung out on the perpetual ambiguity in my life. The phrase "imagine this" was engraved in the back of my mind and haunted my thoughts. I stopped dreaming and felt lonely by the lack of visitation by my new found skeletal friend. One night, I barely slept.

I ignored a few of the messages from potential job possibilities, knowing that they could be the perfect job for me if only they were in different geological locations. I concentrated on figuring out what I needed to do with the re posted job. The job that 3 months earlier I became the runner-up applicant. The job that I was denied because I didn't have the same experience as the other applicant, who they hired and who now is leaving.

In the midst of all this, I get a phone call: "Hello Dana. This is so and so from the Department of so and so. Please give me a call back." I replay the message and realize this is the person I interviewed with in late June for an Assistant Position. I give him a quick call back. I have a feeling as I place the phone call. I think to myself, he is going to offer me the position. Do I want it?

Finally, after 234 days, something is happening. Things are changing. Jobs are being offered. I am finally imagining something other than this.

I find the timing ironic. With the completion of Americorps applications and references requested and completed, and finally after many, many personal pep talks and self-motivational speeches, that I will no longer need. I just recently found myself no longer scared at facing the blank canvas of my future, about mapping it out, drawing the lines, and filling them in all on my own. Ironically enough, it no longer mattered.

I take the job, I let the cards fall as they will. I still write my many confessions.

Apparently, emails that simply say "you should be hearing something soon" are good things.

Summer Playlist (for your listening pleasure)

Because I love music and I feel it plays an integral part in my life. DUM DA DUM, I reveal to you: Dana's summer playlist! (In no particular order.)

1. TV on the Radio, Return to Cookie Mountain. I woke up the other day singing 'I was a Lover' and ended up jamming out to this song at 6 am on the way to work that morning. I also love 'Wolf Like Me' for it's lyrical genius.

2. Brian Jonestown Massacre, Give it Back! This album is sick and I am completely in love with the fact that not all bands from the 90s were caught up in grunge rock and feminist rage.

3. Minus the Bear (Any Album). Enough said.

4.Kings of Convenience, Declaration of Independence. This is an easy listener that anyone will enjoy.

5. The Black Keys. All albums, Especially their newest: Brothers. Many of you have probably heard the new songs 'Tighten Up' or 'Next Girl'. Isn't Frank great? And, if you like those, listen to some of their older stuff like 'Psychotic Girl'.

6. And check out No Eyes for the latest local music. This band is from Raleigh and they are super talented.

7. And of course it's not summer without some type of Beatles music. My dad recently got some of the remastered albums and I have been devotedly listening to them all, but I am most obsessed with Sargent Peppers Lonely Hearts Club.

Well, that about does it for my musical companions this summer. I hope you all become as enamored and obsessed as I have. Enjoy.

IMAGN THIS!

I'm in shock. I can't stop thinking, oh, my god. Let me begin with yesterday.

It was Sunday. I began work at eight am. It was a slow lazy day, with horrible customers who either had a) screaming children or b) couldn't organize themselves enough to place an order. I wanted to scream at them: if you are this uncoordinated, don't leave the house.

I was supposed to work until four pm, but due to the inactivity, I got sent home early. Not my choice, and I was not to thrilled to loose my hours, but what could I do. When I got home, my parents were already at the beach. I decided not to join them. I needed some me time. I decided to go on a run, one of few, since injuring my leg leaving me feeling like a 50 year old lady every time I move into running position or bend my legs more than 45 degrees. I posted a short blog on here and went for a run.

As I started, a red SUV passed with a licence plate reading: IMAGN THIS. Imagine what?, I asked myself looking around me. All I saw was sand, everywhere, in every crevasse, in the bottom of every bag, and sole of every shoe, in everything. I saw heat radiating everywhere, steaming from the roads, out of the cars and reflecting off everything metal. I saw cars, big monster trucks with awful sounding engines that dumped clouds of black oily exhaust. These trucks were driven by southern boys with short buzzed haircuts, red noses, minimal personalities and accents that confirmed their lack of, well, anything. I saw a go nowhere job. I saw mistakes. I saw the kid that lived with their parents their whole life. I saw a vast amount of flat nothingness.

Sweat started to drip from my temples. I turned up my ipod to drown out my thoughts, but it didn't work. I kept screaming at myself. Imagine what?. My heart began racing from my thoughts, this combined with my low blood sugar and high caffeine levels, and I continued to scream on the inside. Seriously, imagine what? Imagine this? Is this really what you want me to imagine?

I probably would not be labeled as a "go-getter" in any situation. I went to college because that's what you did after high school, because I didn't know anything else, because that's what my parents wanted, and that's what my sister's did. I never chose going to college. I never chose to move home after graduating, either. I did it because that was what was expected. So now, faced with the ability to imagine anything, I didn't know how to choose. I wanted someone to write me a letter and put it in the mail telling me what to imagine, what was next, what to do, where to take the next steps. I didn't care who wrote it or why, or even what it said. If it had said, jump off a bridge, at that point in the afternoon, I would have done it. Sorry for the cliche, but I was that desperate.

My run was miserable and tiring both physically and mentally. I could not stop screaming, imagine what?. If anyone saw me yesterday, I am sorry if I looked like a half mentally retarded, babbling, lunatic. Or a whole one. I was.

Today, when I woke, I was better. Again, I worked a long shift, this time I did not get cut early, but did feel the long hours and caffeine wearing me thin as I repeatedly had fits of uncontrollable laughter and mumbled unmistakeably to myself for minutes at a time. I'm positive my co-workers think I'm crazy. I may be. At least, I wasn't having a case of the Mondays.

When I got off work, I walked next door to Chip's Beer and Wine Store and bought a much needed (and much missed) six pack of Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA. Then I got fish tacos and went home to let the dog out. On my way home as I maneuvered my way through traffic, at one point, I passed a red SUV.

When I got home, I ate dinner, alone, listening to the dog bark. I relaxed. It felt good to be alone, but despite more than 24 hours passing, I still could not get the red SUV out of my mind. Really, imagine what?

After dinner, I logged onto my Gmail account. I began sifting through emails. I had an email from my brother-in-law. The subject read: "Possible job, but today is last day to send resume". Too late to do that. I had junk mail from CareerBuilder, the most recent calender of bookings from the Orange Peel. I scanned through it, no one I want to see. I took a gulp of my beer and swallowed it slowly. Flavorful, intense, delicious. I moved on. Junk mail from Conservation International. No, I don't have any money I would like to donate. I finally sifted my way through to an email sent early this morning. It's subject line read: "Are you still looking for work?" What?, I thought. Random. I clicked on it, thinking, this better not be a scam. I began reading: "The person we hired in may had to leave for personal reasons and I am about to re post the position you applied for last spring." I choked on my beer. Some dribbled from my lips. I cleared my throat and wiped my face. "As you were one of our finalists, I wanted to check if you were still looking for work and were interested. . ." OH MY GOD! No way.

It was all too good to be true. There had to be a trick, I thought. Dogfish IPA and a possible job.

The brilliance in life was so bright, it was blinding me. I finally knew what to imagine. I can't stop thinking, Where's the joke? What's the punch line?

Could this really be happening? Or in other words: It's all happening.

I just received the most unexpected email. I'm in shock.

More later.

The greatest thing to fear is fear itself.

I think I'm scared. I think the reason why I haven't made a lifestyle adjustment since graduating seven months ago is because I'm utterly and painstakingly terrified.

The choices I have are these:

• Join Americorp, WWOOF, Peacecorps or some other service oriented volunteer program, which leaves me moving most likely to another part of the country. This choice leaves me alone, in a new place with no money, starting over.
• Move to another city and find a job doing something similar to what I am currently doing. Again, this choice leaves me alone, in a new place with no money, starting over.
• Stay on the OBX and live with my parents. This choice does not leave me alone, but yet I feel alone and I'm still in a new place with no money, starting over.

All these options terrify me. And to think, I try to live by the motto: "The greatest thing to fear is fear itself." Children of America, don't use me as inspiration.

Another post that begins with: "At work today . . .

. . . a woman in her mid forties sits in the corner sharing a latte with a dear friend. They talk about the most important things: life, love, pain, fear and the change that has occurred since the last time they saw each other. Twenty years ago, one young bridesmaid bent down to spread the white silk and chiffon train of her best friend's wedding dress. Today, they shared a coffee.

We were slow and I let my mind speculate about the fun they must be having reminiscencing and sharing with each other the past 20 years of their lives.

I thought about my high school friends, and the memories that we would soon reminisce about when we have a reunion in a few weeks to celebrate a new little life and support an old friend who is now a mother-to-be.

Mostly though, I thought about my college roommates. I imagined us in the middle of our lives, past parenthood. In an age where we were finding time to say hello once again, where our children were grown, our husbands were preoccupied or we were divorced. Our careers were finally nine-to-five's, and we were waiting for retirement. I imagined some of us with widow peaks of gray hair; others salt and peppered; others darker, faker, dyed. I even imagined loose skin and wrinkles. (Sorry girls.) But what I imagined most, was the comfort of an old friend. I imagined reaching across the table to lay my hand on top of the hand of someone I hadn't seen since my wedding day. I imagined all the unspoken words, the ones that didn't need to be said. I imagined the comfort found within the silence. I imagined tears.

As I was thinking all this, I hated myself for even allowing the thought of twenty years to pass between visits with my best friends. I became angry with myself about something that hadn't even occurred, about something that I premeditated on my own, but I couldn't tell myself it would never happen as I counted the months between the last time I had seen some of my very best friends. In the middle of a lull at FPC, I faced reality.

Each day I go to work. I see new faces. I learn new names. I slowly start a rapport with co-workers. I begin calling them friends instead of acquaintances. Sometimes, we have a drink afterwards or talk about hanging out outside of work. They are all great. Don't get me wrong. I love meeting new people, but it's like when you finish a really, really good book. You shut the back cover and put it on your shelf. You contemplate it. You never quite get it out of your mind. It gathers dust. You glance over it's worn, faded cover every once in a while, as you look for something new. Your fingers always find their way back to it's cracked binding, tracing the letters of the authors name, the title. You pull it down. You dust it off. Your fingers leaf their way over watermarks and ruffled pages. You open it up, you find an old friend.

My friends are everywhere. One journeys to great depths in Africa, fulfilling a dream of a lifetime at age twenty-four. One experiences earthquakes and snowstorms and weather breaking heat records in our Nation's capital. Others become big city girls in NY or further their careers and education. They all make change. And, I'm so proud of each and every one of them, but I hate to face the reality.

In the future, when I see each of them, we will reminisce, we will say goodbye not knowing when we will see each other again, and we will build lives, separate and apart. At work today in the middle of a lull, I saw a glimpse of my future.

Americorps, what do you have to offer me?

Dear Americorps:

I am a recent college graduate. I have a BSBA in Accounting and two minors. I would like to be employed, but instead I am looking into opportunities where I can volunteer my time while gaining valuable work experience and skills applicable to my future job, whatever that may be (Currently it is undecided and I am open to all possibilities that may hold my interest for longer than 6 months.). Can you help me?

I like helping people. I like writing. I like the arts. I like community development. I like sustainable practices. I like farming or gardening. I like traveling. Sometimes I like kids.

I don't speak Spanish, or any other foreign language fluently, for that matter. I don't want to work on trails, or have a tent as a permanent home. I don't want this to be a waste of my time or money. I also have car payments that must be made. I don't want to open a credit card or go into debt to volunteer with your organization. I don't like making ends meet (but I am very good at it.). I don't want to sound like a pessimist or realist, but I'm afraid I can't help it.

Can you still help me despite my above requests? Do you still want me as a volunteer? Will this experience help me to be more attractive to future employees?

Do I ask too many questions?

Will this be the change I am looking for? Should I be doing Peace Corps or WWOOF instead? Will this help me face the future? Will I ever find the meaning to life? Or the secret, for that matter? How do I find the right path? Will I be able to travel if I volunteer with you (I miss my friends.)? Will this opportunity provide adventure? Should I move to Europe? Can I ever be that bold? Is contemplating all this a complete waste of my time?

Really, do I ask too many questions?

Will I make friends that will last a lifetime? What if I already have friends like that? Can I ever stop wondering 'what if' and 'why'?


Sorry for burdening you with all of these ideas. I don't think you can help me answer the meaning to life. It was worth a try.

Thank you for listening. I might be seeing you soon.

Dana

Questioning the Unknowns in Job Interviewing

I got an email from my last interview simply stating: "Thanks Dana. You should be hearing something soon."

Is this good or bad?

Grin and Bear it.

It was another scorcher on the Outer Banks today.

Around ten AM I stepped outside of the coffee shop to make a much needed bank run for smaller bills and change. I was already pink in the face due to the excessive caffeine and constant movement. This, compounded by the exhaust fan blowing hot kiln air from next door into our already steamy part of the building, combined with the 375 degree oven that stays on for a good 4 hours each morning, makes the inside of FPC stay at a constant 85 degrees. As I stepped out into the dense air, the sun blinded me and sweat bubbles instantaneously formed between my breasts and shoulder blades. As my vision returned, I noticed a haze hanging in the air and one deep breath measured the heat index to be at or around 100. I plopped down into the seat of my car, my bare legs sticking to the dark leather, ripping off thin layers of skin as I moved. Precisely why I hate leather.

My sweat bubbles turned to geysers and formed together into a thin steam. Sweat tricked down until sucked dry by the fabric of my dress like desert earth. I pulled on the front of my dress, fanning it back and forth. No help, just grin and bear it (My idiom of the day). The bank run was quick, unpainful, but exhaustingly tiring, as the haze seamed to suck all hydration from my body. I felt my fingers drying despite the sweat forming in the palms of my hands and between my fingers, as I wrapped them around the smooth leather of my steering wheel.

Back inside, I took a quick gulp of water from my favored pink water bottle and returned to manning my station at the register. Sometimes my favorite part of the day is standing at the register greeting each person with a smile, making a transaction, feeling the crisp paper money and round solid coins in between my fingers, making change, fulfilling orders, and talking to strangers.

Some days, I dread it. Those days I want to hide myself behind the mass of mechanics and hot steam pouring out from the espresso machine. I want to loose myself in the simplicity of lattes and cappuccinos, and love it when people order, not the specialty drinks,topped with whip cream and drizzle, but the drinks where I can practice the simple methods of preparation, the orders where I can steam the milk to perfection.

And there are those days, where I can't take either. That's when I need a day off.

At the cash register, a woman wanders in with her friend and begins to ramble about random nonsense. I engage her. I flirt. I smile. I earn a tip. She's easy. She puts a dollar and some change in the bucket. Others don't take so quickly. They're a little more complex. I test. I dip my toes. Maria, a fellow employee, jumps in with a cannonball. She knows everyone by name. She's been with FPC since its inception 11 years ago. I change my methods. Sometimes, I follow suit, a cannonball will do. Other times, it's a graceful swan dive. Sometimes, I don't jump at all. Sometimes, I get pushed in, like with the rambling woman and her friend.

"You are sooo beautiful!" "And your teeth," she continues, "Your teeth are wonderful." I flash her a smile showing my pearly whites that are slowly becoming stained by constant coffee consumption. "My teeth are horrible, back in the 70s everyone had bad teeth and no one did anything about it. Your teeth are great." "Years of painful braces," I respond. She continues. I'm fully soaked now. "You are so beautiful. You look just like my daughter," she says as I take her cash and make change. I smile. "You know, I get that a lot. I must have a common face." "No you look just like her, here." She pulls out her phone and shows me a picture. "This is a bad picture, but really, you look just like her." I nod. "I guess I kinda do," I agree. No, not really, not at all, brown hair, blue eyes. Not the same at all.

We disengage, I come up for air. I climb back out of the water. I begin to dry off. I knock a few more off the line that's waiting impatiently, and get down to one. It's her.

"Really," she says, "you look just like her. I wanna get these magnets. I can't believe how expensive they are though, but I just havvve to get them." She's pushed me, again. "This one is just perfect for my daughter, who you remind me of. She will be here in the beginning of August, she's 21 and my son he's 23, he'll be here in two weeks with his girlfriend." I'm in over my head and she keeps pushing me under. "How old are you?" "24." "Oh, well. This one," she says going back to the magnets, "reminds me of my brother. He's my best friend." She exaggerates the story. "This one reminds me of my first boyfriend. We dated 30 years ago and he got addicted to heroin." Drowning. "He's been clean 20 years, AA and all. And this is just perfect for him." I nod. Still drowning. "And these are just for me. I moved here all by myself and they are just for me, just because. I have to get them. You know, I don't really talk to people this much, but" she shrugs her shoulders. I come up for air. Really? "Maybe it's because I remind you of your daughter." I start swimming, fast, for the shoreline. "Let's ring you up," I say politely. I finish her transaction and walk away from the register. It's time for me to leave. "Do you need a mental break?" Sara asks, as I walk past her at the sink. No. I need a life break. I need a new face.

I grin and bear it. I count the tally of lookalike remarks in my head: six. I predict at least 12 by the end of the season. Half way there. Easily attainable.

I need to go home. Instead, I transfer down to the Nags Head location to fill gaps in the schedule. I orient myself with the different pace by spinning in a circle a few times and making a mess. Hmmm, feels like home.

Please save this space for a more inspirational message at a later date.

I am sorry to my readers who have been disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm on my part. Hopefully my apathy will abandon me soon.

My mind has been blank these past few days, as I continue my everyday ritual. It bores me. It leaves me empty and lonely. It leaves my mind blank. This message is just a place saver. Not even the celebration of my 24th birthday could inspire me to write something. I long for inspiration.