Rant

Ok, I need to rant for a minute. Not really rant, per se, but spew words from my brain in the hope that maybe on the way out, they’ll put themselves in some kind of order. That’s what blogs are for, right?

I’ve never made a secret of the fact that Houston and I don’t get along. When I left for college, I was really hoping that I’d never actually have to live here again. Unfortunately, that was in 2005, before the stupid economy flushed itself down the crapper. When my parents dragged me back here, one of the ways I justified it to myself was that it was only temporary. Find a job, work a bit, find a different job somewhere nice. Or go back to grad school, get my MS, find a job somewhere nice. Or get my teaching certificate, find a job somewhere nice.

Well, I’ve got a job now… a very good one. My boss took a huge chance on me and I owe her a lot. She pulled me out of Starbucks, and I can’t really ever repay her for that. I make plenty of money to support myself, I can pay for rent and electricity and gas at the same time (or I will, once Brian and I find a place), and I’ve even started paying my own share of my car insurance and my cell phone bill. I’m self-sufficient and I like it. I won’t be buying a Ferrari any time soon (or any new car, for that matter) and I’m still working to pull my credit out of the toilet, but I’m a contributing member of society.

All that said, I’m still hoping that this job will lead to me getting back into the biology world. I still want to go back to grad school and get my master’s degree, if only because it’s a thing in my life that I started and never finished and it’ll keep poking me until I do. In a perfect world, I’d go someplace like Humboldt State in California and get a degree in avian conservation (or something) and then get a job somewhere actually doing that. In the world where landlords want to get paid every month, I should stay here and get a Master’s of Public Health (or something), which would get me a better job, faster. I’m hoping that my GIS experience will bolster my resume enough that somebody at a biologically-oriented organization will want to hire me to do something awesome.

But I also wanted to be an astronaut when I was 10.

I took a risk, going to Alaska to band at Creamer’s Field. I knew the economy made small non-profits like ABO  vulnerable, and I knew that I’d somehow have to survive the winter on part-time retail jobs. The spring/summer/fall was wonderful, I made enough money to pay for rent and gas and food. By mid-October I thought I’d be ok, working two part-time jobs for six months until the field season started up again in April. I was only getting 15-20 hours a week at Barnes & Noble, and about 5 hours every two weeks at Old Navy, which all added up to about $150 a week. And then gas prices went up and it got cold and my mileage went waaaay down. It was all fine and under control until it wasn’t.

By Thanksgiving I was in trouble, but I was determined to get myself out of it. This is a character flaw I suffer from, this I’ll-solve-my-own-damn-problems-myself syndrome. I know this about myself, this reluctance to ask for help until I’m actually inhaling water, but knowing the instinct exists doesn’t make it go away. I called in every morning, asking for hours, and they gave me as many as they could, but even with the holiday rush, it wasn’t much. I was 2 months behind on rent, they were threatening to turn off our electricity, and I was having to turn down hang-out time with Chaia because I literally couldn’t afford the gas to get there. I finally called my parents and begged for money.

They helped me out, and then yelled. Not because I’d asked for help, but because I’d waited until I was in crisis. I went home for Christmas, rent and electricity finally caught up, and they laid down the law. This was quite a feat because at this point, my parents were in the middle of what turned out to be an ugly divorce… but they were in complete agreement on this one: I was coming home. I went back to get my affairs in order and ask my Barnes & Noble manager to arrange for a transfer (which he said he would do and then kinda didn’t). We arranged for my car to be shipped on the ferry to Portland at the end of January, and I flew down to Portland to meet it and Dad at the end of February. I couldn’t put anything in the car, and could only afford to ship a few small boxes, so two-thirds of my possessions went to friends and the give-away pavilion at the dump.

Leaving Alaska was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, even though I was drowning. My friends and boyfriend at the time begged me not to go. They were more than willing to help me, and their kindness broke my heart, but I hadn’t ever let on how bad it really was. My dire situation was a symptom of the greater problem, and staying would only have prolonged the inevitable. I cried a good bit of the plane ride to Portland, and several times on the 6-day drive to Houston. Knowing I was going to a home where my parents were getting divorced and I had no job prospects just made the whole mess worse. Just thinking about it enough to write this makes my chest get all tight and achy.

I got my transfer and re-hire worked out at Barnes & Noble after a couple of weeks, and slowly began paying off two delinquent credit cards and the money my parents had loaned me to bail me out. I was still only making $150 a week, but I had no responsibilities. I also met Brian, who became one of the few positive things around during a very dark part of my life. I eventually got promoted to assistant manager of the café, which paid marginally better and made my life more than marginally more stressful, until I was literally willing to live in a cardboard box if only I could quit. But they gave me health insurance, so I stayed. I had just turned 26, and got kicked off of my dad’s plan, so I was held hostage. This was how Jenny found me in March of this year at one of her GIS classes. I tried to make a good impression so she’d use her contacts to get me an interview or two. A week later, she offered me a job.

Brian and I took a week-long trip to Fairbanks in February… he wanted to see this place I talked about so much. Alaska is contagious, and he caught the bug without much effort, even in February. I wanted to go back. I really just wanted to get out of Houston, and the Pacific Northwest was at the top of a very short list, but I wanted to go back to Fairbanks in particular.

All this is the backdrop for the emotional roller-coaster I’ve been on the past two days.

The Fairbanks Barnes & Noble store posted their Café Manager position. Brian asked me if he should apply for it. I told him to go for it, and we’d worry about what to do if they offered it to him. I looked at jobs in Fairbanks, both biological and GIS-based positions, and came up empty. Not just that there wasn’t anything that looked interesting… there wasn’t anything at all. A few things in Anchorage, if only because there’s such a huge oil & gas industry presence there, but nothing in Fairbanks. It would be retail or nothing, and I’ll be damned if I’m doing that again. I could go back to UAF and work on my master’s degree there (their wildlife program is pretty dang good), but my financial contribution to Brian’s and my life would be minimal and that’s never sat well with me. And I’m pretty sure trying to support two people on a café manager salary would be tight.

It doesn’t matter in the least unless they offer him the position, but what to do? It’s an excuse to go back, but what would I do once I got there? I refuse to end up right back where I started (which isn’t likely, but still scares me). And the financial security I have here isn’t something to scoff at, even though I wish I could. It’s easy to say ‘do what you love, regardless of the pay!’ until you’ve done it and nearly ended up homeless. Brian’s still idealistic enough to encourage it (within reason), bless his heart, and I don’t think he understands my constant prevarication and indecision. Even if I went back to school up there, I would be income-less for two years… and even after I graduated, a job isn’t guaranteed, even if it’s maybe a bit more likely. And there’s no guarantee that I wouldn’t screw it up again. I’d try really hard not to, especially in the face of my previous failure, but still. Then there’s my guilt about leaving my job. If I said I was leaving to go back to school, I’m sure my boss would understand, but I still feel like I owe her some time. I’ve been there less than a year, and I feel like I should at least make myself a worthwhile investment before leaving. The last thing I want to be is ungrateful for the opportunity she gave me, when she really had no reason to.

I’m still a field biologist at heart, but it’s possible that that’s just denial at this point. Part of the grieving process and all that. But I really hope not. Especially since Houston is slowly suffocating me to death. I’m not built for city life and a desk job. Even less so when said city is so far away from anything even remotely un-city that weekend getaways aren’t really practical, never mind afternoon hikes or skis.

Bah. I don’t know what to do… no surprise there, but I’m stressing for basically no reason. And this issue is pretty emotionally charged to begin with, which makes the whole thing worse. I think my hormones are part of the problem, but my brain doesn’t really care where it’s coming from.