When I was in my final semester of my final year of university, I just about lost it. I had just had enough of the educational system, of being poor and hungry, and of being an extraneous member of society. I was becoming miserable, and letting myself sink into a mire of sticky black badness.

A professor who noticed my decline (and cared) gave me this quote, printed on a card with a photo of light streaming brightly through a window into a dark room:

“The soul is dyed the colour of its thoughts. Day by day, what you do is who you become. Your integrity is your destiny – it is the light that guides your way.”

-Heraclitus

I still keep this quote with me, posted up beside me at any work station I happen to be working at. It helps me to remember that if I want to be a good person, (or a happy person, or a fulfilled person) I have to act like one, everyday. It’s that simple.

Thank you, Byron Johnston. That card has made a world of difference to me.

I've been back at A-1 Pallet for this week... with the slow economy, it looks as though the job won't continue, but really, it's just the boot in the butt I need to keep looking for an ESL teaching job.

It's been nice to come back to my desk and get things done everyday. I really do like working. In my early 20's I never thought I would feel that way.

It's good.

Guess what is not fun at all? Looking for work. I just can’t stand it. I really shouldn’t complain; I’m young and healthy, my skills are polished, and I’m fabulously employable. But there’s something about looking for work that always sends my self-confidence into a tailspin.

Suddenly, I’m out in my little raft, in the middle of the ocean, hoping that an ocean liner is 1) going to see me frantically waving my arms and 2) stop and pick me up and 3) be the RIGHT ocean liner… not some dirty, awful ocean liner that sends me straight to work in the smelly galley, making fish-head soup.

I’m getting freaked out by all this dire talk about the failing economy on the radio. And to make matters more complex, Nate is going to be losing his job by the end of the next week (landscaping is seasonal work, dontcha know). He seems to have all these grand plans for what he’s going to do with his ‘time off’, while I’m busy working myself up into a steaming lather about the car insurance and the unpaid bills and my main dilemma: I don’t live where the work is, but I can’t afford to move. A sickening catch-22. And the unspoken irksome other thing: I don’t like being the main breadwinner. I like it even less that there will soon be no bread at all.

I have some ideas about what to do, though—so Never Fear! My Brain is Here!

Options:

1. I get a “make due” (e.g. making fish-head soup) job until I can find something more desirable.
2. I move to where the jobs are, and charge all the moving costs to Mastercard (not the best choice).
3. I find work abroad… Nate goes wherever his little heart desires, and we part ways, be it for the time being, or permanently…
4. I do a combination of working a “make due” job and volunteering at a schoolthat might be able to offer me a job when the busy season starts up again.
5. Ummmm…
   
   OK. So I’m officially scared. I’m sure that this will all pan out, one way or another; things always work out for me. Back to the grindstone I go: I need to craft a killer resumé!

Well, it turns out that EI won't pay up, because I wasn't 'ready, willing and able' to begin work at any time during my training course. I am irritated of course-- why am I paying into a program that never wants to help me when I need help?-- but I understand the logic behind it. I did leave work to go to school voluntarily. If EI paid out to every person that did the same, the coffers would be empty.

Just wish I had saved up a little more before I got myself into the program.

Anyway, the proverbial fire has been lit under my not-so-proverbial butt, and I am in the midst of a job search. There are some pretty dodgy employers out there; Hanaland comes to mind. If you were coming from halfway around the world to learn English, would you want to study at a place called Pacific Gateway International College of Canada... or would you want to study at Hanaland?

Guess it depends on what you're looking for in an English school. If a cute name is all it takes... well, good for you, Hanaland.

Pat has left me to my job search; I am listening to 'Freebird' in --what is that-- Spanish? Portuguese? It actually gains something in the translation... I'm going to miss Pat's little apartment and the quirky neighborhood around here. I love the quirky old houses with twinklelights on the banisters, and the friendly-looking newer townhouses with Tibetian prayer flags on the porches; the big trees and green yards and the funky people with cool haircuts and second-hand wool coats. This is an urban hippiedom. I like the impression I get of this place: consiousness, coolness, coffee, organic grainy goodness, community, action, interest.

Anyway, I'm heading back to Aldergrove tomorrow... with mixed feelings.

I am listening to mixed tapes from cassettefrommyex.com and mowing my way through a bag of Hallowe’en candy that Pat’s mom brought for him. Sorry Pat… I’ll get you more if you wake up tomorrow and go- “What the hell? No more Caramilks? No more Aeros? Why are there still so many boxes of Smarties?” Speaking of which. I think only little bitty kids like Smarties, for the colours. We get to a certain age and think, “man, Smarties stink. Too much candy coating. Where’s the chocolate?”

By the way, Pat is awesome. I am so grateful to him for letting me sleep in his guestroom for this past month. He even fed me a few times, and invited me to his moustache madness birthday party last night! I drew on a kitty-whisker moustache… it was weird, sitting in a semi-cool bar downtown, at this table full of semi-strangers all clad in fake moustaches… the pretty girls looked the weirdest. Pretty girls in black mustaches, having serious regular everyday conversations, and drinking beer… it was art in action.

I’m not quite ready to look for work yet. I think maybe an entire day off is in order? I say it with a question mark, because I’m not sure I can stand a whole day of just relaxing. I have been reprogrammed to function in the robotic fashion of ultimate productive output. Must. Find. Work.

Oh… my goodness, here I was, thinking that I must be wild and crazy, staying up late and blogging on my first free night… and nope, hey, it’s only 7:49pm. Ten-to-eight, and my ‘wild-and-crazy’ consists of eating expired chocolate and talking to a computer. Sad. Speaking of which, check out http://alice.pandorabots.com/ …I met Alice today. She’s a little boring, but up for a chat anytime. Have you ever spoken to a robot before? There are some interesting ones out there…just google “chat with a robot”. They function using deductionism… it’s a new theory to me. I just learned about these robots today, because you can use them to teach English. They won’t respond to incorrect grammar. Well, some of them won’t.

Well… it’s Saturday night in Vancouver… what am I doing here? I think I’ll go prowl the ‘hood. Yes, I’ll be safe. I always carry my pepper spray and wear my “don’t mess with that girl, she must be crazy” fuzzy hat.

My time with the CELTA course now numbers in hours instead of days. This has been like a year on University crammed into four weeks. My cheeks rae flushed for want of sleep, my eyes crusty, my stomach knotted. I'm not sure what my 'new' life will be like in the next few months.

Small bit of bitching: I have always spelled PRACTICE with a 'c' (the American spelling). During this course, I learned that the UK/Canadian/Australian/et al. spelling of the verb Practice is, in fact, PRACTISE (with an 's'). The noun (like a medical practice) is the 'c' version. So, becoming a grammarian, and an English teacher, I thought it right to ammend my errant 'c'-spelling ways.

I got my paper back. A little red circle was looped around every 's' every time I wrote 'practise'. What the hell?

I am going to stick to practice with a 'c', though it pisses me off, like spelling colour without the 'u'... there are only small things like these that make us Canadian. I am loathe to give them up.

Hmmm.

Very-very tired, I am. Speak and teach the good English, I think I can.

Yesterday I handed in the last version of my re-written paper; if I pass or fail it now, it no longer matters. I will pass the course regardless. Of course, the perfectionist (a.k.a. the 'brown noser') in me wants the pass. And I mean the PASS. But (heave a sigh) the paper is in; the last teaching practise class has been taught; and the cold I have been fighting off for a week and a half is setting up shop in my sinuses and throat booger manufacturing. It's a lucrative business these days.

Hard to say what I'll miss most. I really enjoyed being a student again; prying open my rusty cerebral doors and tossing in knowledge. My hungry feral brain has been feasting. I have enjoyed being among classmates and students of other classes... especially Aki and the gaggle of Korean girls studying the TOEIC in the back classroom. I've really enjoyed being a trial Vancouverite... though I'm not so sure I'll be looking for work in the city. Nate is pretty deadset against it, and I want to give our relationship every opportunity to work out. He's been fabulously supportive to me while I've been away at school, and I've really missed him. Which is good, right?

I haven't enjoyed the fresh smack of poverty. I am broke, broke, broke, and can't wait to get to work. It complicates the moving process... say I get a job in Victoria-- how will I move there to start working? I paid for my coffee this morning with pennies (I now have two pennies left in my wallet), and I have a nice hole dug into my overdraft at the bank... I guess I could always sell my car? Anyway, I'm not too worried about it, because I'm sure everything will work out. It always does. Feeding anxiety to a problem only makes it bigger.

Yeah. I said it, now I just have to believe it.

Two days to go, then I'm off on the job hunt, out in the world. Wish me luck, send me good vibes, and keep loving each other (because it makes the world a nicer place altogether).

~Endrene

I'm sure I've stated several times that time flies whether you're having fun or not. The last three weeks have been a case in point.

The CELTA course has put me through the wringer, and I have loved it and hated it in equal measures. OK, I lie, I've loved it waaaaay more than I've hated it. There's only one week to go, and one more major written assignment, due tomorrow.

Yes. I'm procrastinating… but only a little.

My final assignment has to do with profiling a student, figuring out what they need to do to improve their grammar and fluency, et al. The luck of the draw saw that I got-- get this-- an ENGLISH TEACHER to interview. Seriously. She teaches ESL in Mexico! Needless to say, it has been a little challenging figuring out where she needs help, because she undoubtedly knows her English grammar better than I do. But she's lovely, just a treasure.
Here’s the first part of my assignment (the rest deals with analyses and rationale, and I am sure is not nearly as interesting to read… besides, I haven’t written it yet). Wishe me luck on my final week!

Rocío Garcia is 32 years old. She has an earring collection, a warm, constant smile, and an open, eager nature. She is from a small town called Sierra Blanco, in Mexico; a place that she describes as “the middle of nowhere”. She has been living in Vancouver for just over three months. It was love that brought Rocío to Vancouver.
Rocío was teaching English in her hometown, a career that she chanced upon. Originally a student of architecture, she ran out of money for engineering school, and had to look for other options. A friend of hers told her about an affordable teacher’s training school, and Rocío applied, hoping to become a math teacher. At the time however, the school only had two teacher-training curriculums available: history, and English. Not being a fan of history, Rocío went into the English program, and found employment shortly after graduation.
English has affected Rocío’s life in a variety of unexpected and wonderful ways. Her career brought her an opportunity to study in the UK, and to the love of her life. The day she ‘met’ her Canadian boyfriend online, she was in the only internet café in her hometown. She wasn’t looking for love; she was looking for English grammar exercises to give to her class for the next day. She had her Skype account running so that she could chat with friends, and possibly meet native English speakers who would be willing to give her a hand. “Maybe,” Rocío says, with her characteristic tinkling laugh, “English was my destiny!”

I should clarify. There are also plenty of nutty urbanites, and straight-faced homeless people. Nate and I had a discussion about that tonight. If someone is living in a home that isn't a house, i.e., under a tree, or in a tent-- what gives anyone else the right to say that they are 'homeless'? What if their home just happens to be under a tree?

Because there was a guy, living in the park at the end of the street, who lived under a branchy tree. The parks people came and cut off all of the protective branches, so his home was no more. Nate thinks the guy should've sued.