Wednesday, April 4, 2012

An email I recently sent to friends

A friend said I should post this here because it's, in her opinion, a nice piece of writing.

Subject: In which my rage is properly distributed...


I received, this morning, an email from my alma mater which requested a donation in order to keep funding available to the students of Chatham. It was suggested that I donate an amount similar to "2012" ie 20.12 or 2000.12 (I literally chortled at the latter request).

Being that I am currently in a forced, frugal state, I was appalled at their request. I then thought about this in a raged tizzy at my current workplace, which from henceforth I will lovingly refer to as: Vagina Hell (VH for short). Was it enough that they did not prepare to be, as promised, a world ready women? Perhaps it was the fact that my application to be an Alumnae Affairs Associate was turned down with a lovely letter about how while, it was nice that I cared for my Alma Mater, I was not suited for this Professional Communications. So, it's with this email combined with the knowledge of the former email regarding a cetain GOLD (graduates of the last decade) email that asked "why don't recent alums come to our events?"

Let me lay it out for you, Chatham:  I pay a quarter of my salary every month to student loans and I am one of the lucky ones that had a lot of scholarship and "help" money from people to go there. I majored in Professional Communications, which to employers means that I am a trained secretary- nothing more, nothing less. Nevermind the bit where you promised me a lifelong career in journalism because, to use Chatham meant to have an advisor who mother fucking worked for mother fucking CNN. Has that been of assistance to me? According to your career services' very poorly written email: I should network with her to find a spot at CNN- not that they had bothered to ask me in the first place- which, if they had, they would have know that she told me "I only know two people there now. They might not even be there any more." And guess what? They aren't. Dead end.  So, what is this diploma doing collecting dust on my mantle? It reminds me of the countless days I stressed over this project and that paper and of the sleepless nights I spent in the broadcasting studio in the middle of winter where it was 45 in the studio but I had to finish a broadcasting project with Erie's finest who felt the need to discuss how she gained 5 pounds and ,"like, oh my god, I need to chow down some metamucil to flush it out."

Am I writing? Sure, I have a blog. I've written a few articles on where it's nice to take your girlfriend for a first date in Pittsburgh. I am not, at the age of 25, where I was supposed to be and I am unsure of how to get there. Primarily because Chatham failed to provide me with world readiness, failed to help me find legitimate employment within my *chosen* field. They tore apart my resume and then tore apart the one they made for me (that's a different story for a different day). Also note that this is the school where there's now a Masters degree program for Professional Communications with a *lot* of overlapping classes from the B.A. I emailed to see if my class credits could transfer up (since grad students had been in those classes already) and they said: "no, because then you could get the degree in 2 semesters and we wouldn't make any money from it."  Fun fact: I've taken the classes, I've done the work. Let me take the additional coursework and get my Masters since you've so failed to provide me with a proper enough degree to function as an adult.

So, what happens when I recieve an email (after *several* phone calls) asking for the cutesy-wootsie amounts of 20.12 or 2000.12 dollars? After a small period of blinding, purple rage (funny thing: I used to literally see red when I would be angry and now I see purple; a side effect of Chatham, perhaps), I hopped onto their donation site and donated twenty dollars and twelve cents.

Why? Why after all that rage and lack of money would I do this? Because of a little input form that says:

Would you like to donate your money in honor or memory of someone?

Of course I chose this option, after all, the answer was obvious: I asked to put my donation as "In Memory of my Dream Career in Journalism" in the fill-in box.  Now, I know they won't put that in their newsletter or probably honor it. That's fine because under comments I wrote, "since you all won't actually honor my original wishes of who to put my donation in memory to; please put my donation as In Memory of: Robert "Doc" Cooley" (since he was one of the few professors who actually cared about my work quality and general life-outcome).

So, now I sit here at the desk of my nonprofit job, cancelling my evening plans because once again the midwives are running over and messing up my schedule while there's a two year old in the lobby wailing out a tantrum so large my chest hurts and his mother just is calmly saying "now, timothy, you know that's not how we handle our upsets" over and over and over. All I can ask myself is: is there ever going to be a way out of this? Am I ever going to be away from all of this? Do I leave Pittsburgh? Do I start myself over and get a new degree and default on all my student loans? For once in my life there isn't a clear answer and I kind of, absolutely hate it all.

So there's this email here, the one I'm writing and I'm writing it to tell you: I'm sorry if I've been abscent and not called or answered my phone. It's just that I'm always at work, always trying to find a way to afford how to be a "real adult." It occured to me this afternoon that I'm turning 25 this year and no where near where I wanted to be as an adult person. I have very little to talk about in my life, right now it's bills, work problems and car problems. Nothing interesting but I'd really love to hear from you and what you're doing.

Love to you and yours.


No comments:

Post a Comment