I’ll start here.

I am in the middle of a job search. Because I’ve spent the better part of the last five years teaching people how to dance with each other, my writing resume has a big hole in it. I fill it with some line about “freelance editing,” but the phrase appears to send my cv swooping into the recycle bins of potential employers faster than my gmail account can upload the attachment.

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It is such a faceless, soul-sucking endeavor, this modern job search. I’m in Daly City, CA at the moment, a suburb of San Francisco. My also-job-seeking partner and I are staying at a friend’s large apartment while she lives it up in Turkey, but it’s hard to enjoy the amenities of a nice big dance floor, a strong shower flow, and some pretty terrific views of Lake Merced when neither of us have nothing to do except scan craigslist, flexjobs, indeed.com, elance, odesk, and the like. Same schedule every day: wake up around slacker-thirty, make coffee, eat granola and yogurt, all the while keeping your face within eight inches of your laptop screen. We are never away from our machines for more than a half an hour at a time, compulsively checking email and facebook for responses of any kind, like marooned shipwreck survivors keeping constant vigil for signs of rescue.

It’s no way to live.

But I find little kindnesses here and there. The colorful streets surrounding our apartment in Ingleside. The fact that our friend has a Bialetti 3-cup in her apartment, and I’ve been perfecting some brewing skills learned from an espresso-militant friend in New York. That San Francisco has been unusually warm this season. Cooking perfect steak-frites. An unprompted kiss. It all helps.

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Here I will occasionally complain. I will say things that are not kind and I will try not to dilute my expression. For a long time I felt that someday I would start writing, and not just to appease those confused about my selected profession (“No, I’m not a writer; I’m an editor”). I don’t feel nearly ready enough to put down words and share them with others, but time is indifferent to my comfort and really, I’ve got nothing better to do.

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