Beware the frothy emotional appeal

After the wettest March on record, the temperature has plunged. It feels like winter here again. A little snow, some hail, a funnel cloud or two, and some sunbreaks... yep, it's spring in Portland. If you don't like the weather now, wait five minutes. Did you know Oregon actually had an anti-tourism campaign in the 1980s? I remember a postcard that proclaimed, Oregonians don't tan, they rust. Har, har. There was another one about Oregonian bicyclists falling off their bikes and drowning. Yikes. Apparently we were having trouble with Californians overstaying their welcome. As I was living in California at the time, I thought it was fairly hilarious.

This evening, after grading Access tests and several five-paragraph essays from paralegal students who would rather eat dirt than write, I needed to get out of the house. In lieu of a dog (or a person), I took my cheap digital camera to the park. I'm lucky enough to live near Mt. Tabor, an extinct volcano in Southeast Portland. I took some photos in the dusk with a shaky hand, more studies in texture than glimpses of Mt. Tabor's panoramic vistas.

While I was trekking the muddy trails, listening to The Associates, Bowie, Xymox, and Depeche Mode on my mp3 player, I pondered my bedraggled career. In other words, what the hell am I going to do when I finally finish this doctorate? Get a different job? Stay where I am? Start my own business? Jump off a cliff?

I'm beginning to accept the sad fact that I am not really employee material. The only reason I've lasted eight and a half years at the for-profit college is because they leave me alone. (Don't mess with a chronic malcontent.) I fear I need to start my own business. But having an entrepreneurial seizure is what dumped my life into a hole of debt. It took me two decades to claw my way back to zero net worth. I am loathe to go through that again. So not fun. And yet, every time I imagine myself preparing resumes and cover letters, sitting through interviews, being hired, showing up... I feel sick.

I don't trust my gut. Am I feeling queasy because it would be good for me to get a real job, be a grown-up, be a worker among workers, just bow my head and take it? Or am I feeling nauseated because self-employment represents a risky but exciting brave new world where I can spread my wings and fly? Well, when you put it like that...

I know there is more to say, but I can't think of it. My mind just shut down. I saw the words "spread my wings and fly" and I had a brain fart, apparently, because now I have to turn off the computer and go watch TV. Zombie-time. Beware the frothy emotional appeal.