Saturday, April 10, 2010

It's April. I have much to say, and don't say it because I still feel the need to catch you up on what has happened in the last year and a half. So here's the shortest version I can manage. Feel free to nudge me with questions, I'll answer them, but I'm making this post vague in the interests of time, not out of a perpetual desire to be mysterious. Please also note that I can't tell even my own story without interrupting myself, and so those are the bracketed bits. I'm sorry to all you punctuation police, I hope it doesn't drive you too insane.

The week [maybe even the day] after my job as an ABA therapist ended I began working in a small coffee shop/night music venue in Easton. Got a boyfriend, went home for Christmas [loved seeing grandma], boyfriend and I broke up [don't worry, I was surprisingly fine with it], tired of working in coffee [whatever, I really just realized I'm turning 26 this year and can't keep putting off growing up], quit job while applying to work as a marketing director for a 308 seat music venue in Annapolis, managed to sufficiently impress in the interview [because I wore my Audrey Hepburn-esque black trench coat that day, and because I knew the right people], got the job, and have been working like a mad woman. Oh, and I got a new computer [not just any... I finally got myself the mac I've been dreaming about for half a decade, or at least the current version of my old dream], and since the computer responds to the commands I give it without taking so long I begin to tear my hair out, I have managed to write another blog.

The End.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Chapter 2

Now we resume normal chapter numbering as I think I have filled in the necessary blanks.
I began training for the new position as an ABA Therapist in July. This transition was both wonderfully exciting and very sad for me. Sad because it meant that I had to give up my position as Charlie's nanny and exciting because of the nature of the job. ABA Therapy, basically stated, is a positive reenforcement training method for developmentally disabled (usually children with Autism Spectrum Disorder, or Asperger Syndrome). The basic idea is that you teach Children by making them happy to do what is socially acceptable through some sort of external reward system. In my training, the most important aspect of this reward system was being personally loudly and energetically encouraging. That meant that when my student did something correctly, I needed to be jump-up-and-down, louder-than-a-4-year-old's-birthday-party, hooray-for-you affirming. While it has been clear to me ever since it occurred to me to figure out my own personality that I am not remotely a bubbly happy person, I had thought that I am generally encouraging and caring in that quiet way. Well, it turns out the quiet way is not what I was being paid for. So I began (with the help of those 5-hour energy boosters) to train myself in the ways of loudness. It was beyond exhausting. Mentally, and physically, I was stretching myself far beyond what I had imagined I could ever do. Naturally, this began taking its toll.
A couple of months after my training was completed the educational situation of my student was rapidly altered, and my position, to my relief, became obsolete.
As I had spent the past several months driving 45+ mins. to work each day, and had tired of the hated Summer Bay Bridge Traffic, I decided to look at a map and see if there were any towns worth mentioning a bit closer to me where I would be able to find a job. And so I found Easton.

Chapter 1.2

To facilitate living so far from where I worked it became necessary to purchase a car. As luck would have it, Jon had a spare sporty thing just waiting for me to swoop in and buy. For people how have seen my DVD collection and realize that I own the new "Italian Job" it's perhaps not too surprising that I like driving quick little cars faster than is strictly legal and that my turns are rather sharper than necessary. So it will be unsurprising when I describe the car as a sliver 2-door with rims and darkly tinted front windows that rode only a couple of inches off the asphalt. Jon and I affectionately called it the go-cart because you really did feel as though you were in nothing more than a turbo-charged cart just built for those drive-under-the-semi-stunts.

Chapter 1.1

It seems I have fallen out of chronology. Before I quit my coffee job my oldest cousin and his wife moved to the Eastern Shore of Maryland which is about a half-hour away from Annapolis. Because they have the world's most adorable two-year-old, and because they had twin girls on the way, and because their generous nature involves taking in homeless family members, I decided to move outta town.