Straggler.

Talking to him is like blowing hot air on cold glass.

It feels exciting for that first moment or two – like you’re a kid again, the person you used to be. You can draw a letter! Or a heart! Or even a horse!

But then, the nostalgia overpowers, the feelings that were once there aren’t and you can’t find what it was anymore that made you want to revisit that little patch of glass.

So you slip away while the blown breath fades, straggling in the corners until there’s no more air at all.

The danger in disabled.

The job process becomes infinitely more complicated when you have a disability. However slight it may be, it still is perceived as something you can’t do – which leads to the question, what else can’t you do?

When I get an email asking for a phone interview, it sends up a flare. “Shit. They want a phone interview. What do I do?” I can’t ask anyone, because I don’t know any other people who are in the same situation as me: hearing impaired and looking for full-time employment. Nor do I know what the best protocol is in this situation, cause I’ve had negative experiences and I’ve heard different things.

I could email them and ask for accommodations: an in-person interview would be best because I could guarantee that I can read actual lips and answer those questions. But then I might run into the same complications I had with my last interview: when I asked for accommodation, they said they would be in touch about an in-person interview, gave me specific dates they would be in touch, and never called me back. Two weeks after the date they said they would call me back (and didn’t), I finally called their human resources department.

I said, “I was contacted about an interview for [redacted] a few weeks ago. I explained that I was hearing impaired, and an in-person interview would be best. However, I also called back and suggested an alternative: email me the questions right before the interview. I never heard from the woman who contacted me after I initially explained my hearing impairment.”

The woman I spoke to immediately replied that she would look into the matter and I should expect to hear from her later that same day.

The supervisor of the position to which I applied contacted me later that same day. He invited me in for an interview, which had me a little nervous. Was it a courtesy interview? Or would he take me seriously?

When I arrived, I was surprised to see that my interview would include a few other staff members. Maybe they really would take me seriously!

About thirty minutes later, after what seemed like a thorough and engaging discussion, we exchanged pleasantries, I thanked them, and I left. I thought I might legitimately have a shot at this, especially when one of the interviewers responded to my thank you letter to tell me how impressive he thought I was.

It’s been a month since I went for that interview. Needless to say, I haven’t heard from them since.

So if that’s what happened when I requested accommodations for my disability, is it an experience worth repeating?

On the flip side, I could say yes to a phone interview and run into the risk of not understanding the interviewer on the other end. The woman had a slight accent, and though I explained I was hearing impaired, I ended up asking her to repeat herself so often, it’s a likely consideration she thought I was incapable of communication, and possibly, of comprehension. Not only did I not get a follow-up interview, but I haven’t had any other interviews from that university since. And I’ve applied to seventeen more positions with said university.

So…which way do I go? It seems no matter which way I choose, I get screwed.

For that matter, how many people have chosen not to hire me because I am hearing impaired? How many people write me off, despite my Master’s degree, despite my past professional experiences, despite my repeated perseverance about generally being awesome?

I have always held a positive can-do attitude about my disability and my life. I am unwilling to let it stop me. But when I get called for interviews several times a month and get nowhere after meeting with them or speaking to them on the phone, how much of it is because people are afraid to hire someone that might challenge their perceptions of disabled?

I struggle with trying not to become more and more jaded as I continue my job search. But with the months that pass, the lack of response to my applications and even my interviews, I can’t help begin to question whether there is something I could be doing or if my ever-present blue hearing aid is doing it all for me.

Storytelling.

She was always one of those girls who could picture the entire story from its beginning to its end before the story was had.

Impulsively, on a date, she gave a boy a square towelette provided by the restaurant. As he played with it between his fingers she thought, “This will be our story.” She imagined him pulling the square out of his wallet to prove his love for her. She saw that same towelette again, beneath a diamond ring. She pictured her friends and family laughing at how perfectly her it was for a romance to bloom over a wet nap. She saw vacations in Greece and laughter as they picked off each other’s plates; surely, they would live happily ever after.

And yet she knew it never would be. The square would stay folded into a pocket, pulled out on a random day with a quick flashback to those three hours in a bar, before being tucked back away or simply discarded.

She saw a fairy tale blossom from the cliffs of New Jersey. Where a picnic table and grassy knolls would be the setting of anniversaries, repeated basket lunches, and love. She lost herself in indulgent kisses, swimming in the headiness of a boy! Wanting to kiss her! And not just because she was cute, but because she was smart too! She imagined their return to the city, grand and luxurious, after biding their time in the suburban wilds of New Jersey. Their story would involve elegant, tailored clothing and delicious meals in five-star restaurants, and they would live happily ever after.

And yet she knew that one wouldn’t be either. The beeped horn as he waved goodbye, the text that left her wondering, and her jeans smelling of sunlight and grass on a fading autumn day betrayed her for days.

She traced circles on a boy’s arm, wondering if he would kiss her, thrilled when he did. She saw his mother putting up barriers for Catholicism, her father fighting for Judaism, and yet, she thought they would persevere. They would spend their days reading books side by side, occasionally wandering out for a stroll around the neighborhood, but content to snuggle into the couch for an episode of the Office. He’d argue the American Office was better, while she’d clamor the British Office deserves a chance – stop being so culturally snobbish, and they would live happily ever after.

And yet she knew something had to give – it couldn’t be so right so soon. And so it wasn’t, for he moved miles and miles away, while her heart and brain fought wars as they struggled to reconcile reality with her story,

She was always one of those girls who could picture the entire story from its beginning to its end before the story was had. But she never seemed to know how to shape her own stories. She could see them, anticipate them, even predict when something was going to happen. But somehow, she always found herself a little disappointed when the story she so desperately wanted, even for a little while, ultimately never came true.

Scars that linger.

The rain always makes my ear suddenly feel unhinged.

The scar there is invisible but the skin behind it still feels tender to the touch.

There was a time where my hair didn’t grow there. Where instead, there was a fine line of stitches, red and pulsing, from the place they snipped my skin apart to relieve pressure.

There was a time when I refused to be wheeled into the operating room, choosing instead to walk through the halls of nurses and surgeons in their green scrubs, to a bed that held out its arms in a executioner’s style T.

There was a time where my mother, father, and stepfather all sat in one room and I cracked jokes to relieve the tension, even though I was the one about to have my head busted open in just a few minutes.

I run my finger lightly behind my ear, feeling for the invisible stitches, squirming slightly at the touch. Even though the scar is gone, my ear doesn’t feel quite right, put back together.

It feels like there is a line, only noticeable to my right index finger, that can trace the line between hearing and deaf.

The rain always makes my ear suddenly feel unhinged.

The danger of [potential] discrimination.

On Thursday, I received a phone call requesting a phone interview from a university to which I had applied a week before.

I explained that while I have no problem doing phone interviews, it may not be the best representation of what I can do or who I am because of my hearing impairment. The last phone interview I had was replete with “What?” and “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” which is easily misinterpreted as not understanding the concept rather than the actual sounds. Needless to say, I didn’t get a follow-up interview, let alone that job.

[University] said, “No problem. We’ll get something set up and get in touch with you later today.”

They never called back.

I was nervous about calling them back – I didn’t want to seem pushy or rude, but I really was interested in the position. I was also a little apprehensive: why was it taking so long for them to figure out when they could have me come in to the office? If they were planning a phone interview, weren’t they already anticipating some sort of conference and discussion? Did they decide that they no longer wanted to interview me because I said I do much better in-person than on the phone because of my lack of hearing? I wanted to hope for the best.

So on Friday, 24 hours after the initial contact was made, I called them. “Hi [University]. I am really looking forward to meeting with you and I’m very excited about interviewing for the position. Please call me back at [phone number].”

Shortly after, I received a phone call saying, “The person we need to confirm details with is out of the office today, but I’ll be in touch with you on Monday.”

It is now thirty-six minutes shy of Tuesday. There was no confirmation received today.

At what point does it cross the line from being persistent to annoying? And even more so in an issue that has the danger of running into potential discrimination? And is there any way to go into an interview (if I do end up having to follow up) without feeling like the cards are already stacked against me?

A letter in September.

Dear Atlantic City,

There’s something about wearing a very small dress with very tall heels that makes a little man in my head start singing, “You don’t have to put on that red light!” Can I help it if I looked hot? Dancing + drinks + good food is always a plus in my book.

Thanks for reminding me that I can be a supernova when I want to.

________________________________________________________________

Dear Retail Job,

You have this way of making me feel unappreciated, undervalued, and unrecognized. I can be the best salesperson in the store and it won’t mean anything to anyone. Your employees have different ambitions than I do, which makes it harder for me to relate. On a purely superficial level, I miss knowing that people were attracted to me because of my intelligence.

I feel like a gem sitting in a back drawer somewhere, waiting for someone to take me out and clean me up so I might dazzle once again.

________________________________________________________________

Mr. Economy (of course it’s a male. Women wouldn’t do this.)

My bitterness with you has abated – a little. It might have something to do with an opportunity that has done more for me in a week and a half than anything has in the last five months. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt mentally stimulated and challenged. I’m also intrigued by the fact that I’ve been more hands-on in this opportunity in the last week and a half than I was the entire year I worked in publishing. Here’s hoping tomorrow brings good news about what that opportunity means for me.

But in the meantime, stop sucking for everyone else, k?

________________________________________________________________

Dear hair,

What is it about a hair cut that always makes me feel happy and sexy and fun? I wonder if instead of paying for anti-depression pills, researchers should conduct a study of giving women frequent haircuts and how that makes a woman feel.

Haircuts as an anti-depressant. Go.

________________________________________________________________

Body,

I’m making a commitment to you. I miss how toned we were in Berkeley and New York. I miss looking down and seeing abs not flab. From here on out, it’s all about you. It’s important to feel good about who I am on the inside, but I also want to feel good about who I am on the outside, and not just when I wear clothes that highlight my best asset and hide my not-so-great ones.

Let’s rock and roll, baby.
________________________________________________________________

Dear boys,

Must you suck so utterly much? I’d like to think it’s something about the boys in New Jersey, I really would. I mean, I went to college here, and the boys were fine. But they were also smart. Apparently, the same cannot be said for boys who just live in New Jersey and are not on a college campus. I know I shouldn’t let you but I always end up wondering what other girls have that I don’t. And that just makes me sad. Because I’m awesome.

I just need to remember that whenever I do get to leave this area again, boys are still going to suck. But at least they won’t make me feel like an alien from outer space because I have two degrees.

________________________________________________________________

Dear October,

I’m of mixed feelings about you. You haven’t been very good to me in the last five years. But I am determined to make this October a good one. Whether it’s through opportunities, widening my social circle, focusing more on being in shape than being in Retail Job details, I want you to be a good October. As much as I may hate my current situation, it’s still light years away from where i’ve been. No depression, no insomnia, no anxiety or panic attacks, the ability to move through life awake and not as a zombie might – I’m beginning the month with a head start. Let’s try to keep it that way.

Yours truly,

accidentally graceful

The (new) rules.

I spent the better part of my twenty-five years trying to repress my emotions.

Ultimately, that means there are a lot of tears bubbling under the surface.

The latest came when I realized that I did it again. I met a guy that I really really liked. But I denied that I liked him. (I am in fifth grade.) I pretended that I was okay with just hooking up and not really knowing if he cared for me beyond my boobs. I assume he did, since we did talk about things other than my boobs far more frequently than we assessed the awesomeness of my rack (I am not in fifth grade.)

But it became clear to me that he spent far more time pursuing other girls than he ever did me. Cause I am a sure thing apparently. (To be fair, I don’t actually know what was going on in his head, and I probably never will.)

The funny part is, I spent so much time reinforcing that I didn’t have feelings for him that it ended up biting me in the ass. Because surprise surprise, I did. For him and his stupid shoulder blades that I keep writing about.

But there is a lesson here to be learned. Several, in fact. So I’ve broken it down because I’m a dumbass and this needs repeating.

1. If you’re attracted to someone? It’s okay to let them know. It’s also okay to want an actual relationship instead of pretending you don’t.

2. After the little “Hi, I’ve fallen in love with you, but now you live in Chicago and I do not” incident of 2007-2009 approximately (there was a lot of on-off-ness), I’m not the girl who can just hook up and run. I’ve been ruined for life. To think I still can be that girl is only going to hurt me.

3. Case in point. I spend so much time trying to be the cool, fun girl, that when said boy of the moment meets cool, girlfriend girl, I feel rejected, shafted, and second best. And I’m not second best. I’ve always been a terrific girlfriend, an even better friend, and just an all-around awesome person.

4. I need to remember that more often and spend less time trying to be awesome girl and more time accepting that I can be awesome girlfriend.

5. In that same vein, if I’m attracted? Jesus already, ACCEPT IT. Stop denying it. Stop playing games. Don’t give cold shoulder. Just…be me.

6. Ignoring feelings leads to the moment passing you by. Because by the time you figure it out? He’s already moved on. And that’s going to start the cycle again of feeling rejected, second best, and no good. But ultimately, it’s on you to make the most of something. There’s no blaming the universe for this one.

7. It’s easy to confuse feelings of intense horniness with personal attraction. And vice versa. I do it all the time. Clearly.

8. We change. I’m not the same person I was six months ago, six years ago, sixteen years ago. My priorities are different. Maybe I am still completely thrown for what to do about a livelihood and hating the high school drama of Retail Job. But…maybe I shouldn’t deny myself any sort of emotional fulfillment because I’m working so hard on meeting my career and financial requirements.

I don’t know that I’ll be able to break this cycle. I do it every time – pretend I don’t really notice what’s going on emotionally and focusing on the physical. To date, only one person has ever called me out on it, and he is the one I fell in love with. Sucker is my name.

But I am tired of being the one left behind when a connection is missed every time, because I refuse to accept what’s happening. I’m so scared of my own feelings and emotions that I just…completely bypass them. So in the long run, I keep taking steps backwards and undoing the fort of security I’ve built for myself and my heart.

And that’s something I really…really need to learn to stop.

Complete stream of consciousness.

It’s been one year and five months since I last had sex (with rebound boy).

The last person I fooled around with is by no means a contender for the great relationship prize – he is more “I’m going to stare at you all day at work and give you long smoldering glances, but then not contact you outside of it even though we talked for a few hours last night.” i.e. confused/game player. Of course, he’s the one I’m most attracted to right now as the chemistry was palpable the very first time I met him.

To date, that’s only happened with four other people: where I met them and knew someday, somewhere, something was going to happen. I’ve been accurate on all accounts – though with coworker I may have overshot and anticipated a proper relationship, not a helter skelter friends with benefits. But I’m okay with that.

There is another coworker who likes to tell me I’m pretty and that I have great boobs. I know I’m pretty, and I definitely know I have great boobs. But I don’t want him to think anything is going to happen with us. Mostly because as flattering as he can be with his (many many many) compliments, they do nothing for me. I’ve always been the kind of girl who wants to know that my intelligence is what’s sexy, that my writing is what’s hot. The boobs I know, and even though I’d prefer to be more in shape, I still have a pretty rocking body that makes boys sit up and take notice when I feel like showing off.

I’ve told him that.

I’ve also told him that I’m not interested in him like that.

There are other boys who also like to tell me how awesome I am, and how sweet I am, and blah blah blah. But they don’t make me feel like there’s something bubbling under the surface – it’s just good companionship and entertainment, not intense attraction. And of course, the last two guys I’ve cared for were those that made me wonder what sort of chemical reaction we were going to create. So I’m spoiled and I have high standards.

But then one of those bouts of “Oh god, it’s been a year and five months since I last had sex, and I’m so freaking horny, and maybe I should just initiate something or just lower my standards and try something new because I only have the two types and look how well that’s worked out for me.”

Sometimes I think maybe I need to be more proactive with coworker that likes to watch me throughout the day and kisses me in dark basements (a recurring theme!) But then I think, “To what end? I already know I don’t want to date him because he’s so insecure, even though I do think he’s a great guy with a terrific sense of humor. Plus, I like his tattoos. And his shoulder blades. Okay, admittedly, I like more about him than I should, but I don’t want to date him!”

This sort of thinking gets me in trouble. It gets me jealous when I see him flirting with other coworkers – even though I’ve noticed that he and I don’t flirt anymore at work. We just straight out talk – does that mean our friendship/relationship has evolved to the point where he feels more secure with me and doesn’t need to use flirty comments as an excuse to talk to me? Or am I just reading into things too much?

Underlying all of this is a fear of being trapped in New Jersey. Of meeting someone so great that I can’t handle the idea of long distance ever again, and I stay here for the rest of my life. (Can you tell I really want out of New Jersey?) And yet, the job market being what it is, I constantly second guess myself. I second guess my qualifications. I feel dejected every time I send another resume out into empty space. I wonder if I wasted money on a degree that I’ll never use. I feel empty and pointless and bland because the job I have is so not the job I want. Especially when I find out later that coworkers have been promoted to full time, salaried, and benefitted, even though my numbers are better, while I struggle to make my student loan payments and pay off my hearing aid monthly because I’m still getting paid hourly. I imagine my managers think I’m destined for bigger and better things. A lot of people seem to think that – although this bigger and better thing? Could really make an appearance right now.

It’s a bit like being the kid in the room who holds their hand up patiently, like they were taught in kindergarten, while everyone else talks over each other to make their points heard. You get completely passed over until the teacher calls on you. I’m apparently invisible.

I don’t have expectations for now. I don’t want to lead these guys on, or be seen as just another girl to fool around with (I don’t think coworker sees me that way at all, but still.) I don’t want to be stuck here forever or move into a career that I don’t want, just to have some stability and freedom.

Sometimes though? I just really miss sex. You forget what the freedom of being able to actually have sex, have your own place, say, “Come on over,” anytime you want, and not, “My parents are going to be gone tonight. Want to come over and leave before they come back?” I guess maybe I just miss the freedom I used to know. And everything else that came with it.

Passive aggressive goodbyes.

It was during a periodic e-mail check that I got the request.

“K.D. wants to be friends with you.”

The last time I saw this girl was when she picked me up outside my house, drove to a local coffee shop, and told me she wanted to wait till we got there to tell me a story, lest we have nothing to talk about.

The last time I spoke to this girl was two months later, when I texted her “Happy birthday,” and she wrote back, “Thanks, but I’m busy.”

It’s been three years since we’ve last seen each other. Three years of wondering how she is, if she married that guy she was dating, if she was still living in the place she had just moved into, if her mom was okay, what her sisters were up to, if she was okay, so on and so on and so on.

So I get the request.

I immediately text Avocado, who has known this girl as long as I have because we all went to high school together. She’s seen the ups and downs of that friendship. She writes back almost immediately.

“Did she say anything?”

I look and realize there’s no message. That her profile is limited to me. There’s just a friend request.

It takes me almost twelve hours to decide what to do. I deliberate writing a nasty message, a positive message, accepting and seeing if she throws anything out there, not accepting at all. It’s been three years of wondering why she decided we couldn’t be friends anymore, and three years of thinking about her in those quiet moments when a memory invades.

Finally, I accept it.

I add a note. “Hey. I must admit, I’m a bit surprised to see you here. I hope you’re doing well.” Maybe if I say something that’s cautious but friendly, she’ll explain why she friended me.

She writes back. “Yeah, I’m kind of shocked too.”

Shocked? I think. At what? That I accepted?

“What’s got you shocked?”

“I was never interested in the past. I guess things change.”

“I see…Well, I guess I should ask then. Curiosity filled?” as I realize she’s not interested in being friends. She’s just nosy.

“Not yet. Still bumping around your profile,” she says.

And just like that, any interest I had in being friends with her again was snipped clean.

The conversation continues, as I try to give her a chance to redeem herself. Throw out a truce or an olive branch, rather than this cryptic passive aggressive back and forth exchange. She suggests I’m the one with the grudge and tells me in a manner of sorts that I should get over it.

Finally, I give up. This isn’t going to go anywhere, and I don’t want it to go anywhere. I tell her as much and I leave it alone. I also defriend her, like an immature thirteen year old.

But we aren’t friends. We stopped being friends gradually, until one day I woke up and she was not a part of my life anymore. She wasn’t someone to text stories to or make plans with or even exchange a simple e-mail with. I spent the better part of a day debating whether or not to allow her to be a part of my life again, even if it is as minutely as facebook. And after all that, I was left with irritation and sadness for her, for holding a grudge against me still after not speaking to one another in three years.

There are no hard feelings on my end. There never was. Confusion and disappointment maybe, since we had all these plans for the future. But never anger or aggression.

Sometimes, we make choices for a reason without knowing them. Sometimes people make choices for us that we get no say in. I guess this is just one more check in the box that says everything happens for a reason.

Avoidance.

I spend a lot of time these days avoiding.

Avoiding any talk about how my job hunt is going. Avoiding talk about my job at Retail Store and how no matter how positive I try to be, I still end up frustrated and annoyed at the end of the day. Avoiding my friends because I don’t want to talk about the former, nor the latter, and what else do I have to talk about since that’s all there is to my life anymore. The only people I do enjoy talking to these days are those who didn’t know me when I used to feel so much more vibrant. I feel as though I don’t need to meet my old standards of personality with them.

I avoid thinking about whether I might be depressed again. I avoid thinking about how lonely I am, how much I miss having someone to talk to that doesn’t try to placate me without really understanding. I avoid thinking “Why am I just the friend and never the girlfriend?” and what sort of signals I’m giving off to guys that they like me but won’t pursue me. I avoid thinking maybe I’m just not good enough, which I know is silly thinking, but easily accessible to me in a vulnerable state.

I avoid wondering if and when I’m going to get out of here because it hurts too much to think about the life I feel I’m missing out on. I allow minute details slip into my mind, like, “What if I had a boyfriend now, with whom I could just lay in bed naked all day? I’m supposed to be in the prime of my life, right? Shouldn’t someone else be able to enjoy me?” And then I think, “No, because right now, I don’t even enjoy myself really.”

I wonder if maybe my tactic in avoidance is what’s keeping me from being hired somewhere, no matter how much passion or persuasion and good writing I put into my cover letter. Then I let that one slide out of my mind too, banished by the likes of Netflix and library books.

It almost feels as though, even though life is in color, I’m walking around in a shab state of gray. Not shabby chic; more like feeling-useless chic.

So I avoid.