inkstainedpaperblots.

"I should've had another one after you. It's like you're more than one person sometimes, like you're too much for yourself. You want to zip yourself open and just walk away."

- My mom, in reference to me. She knows me like no one else.

I called her today to get some motherly advice on my latest dilemma.

In my life, it seems as though when one door opens, another one creeks ajar, just parallel to it. I am in the middle of a very tedious application process for a suit position with a financial institution. They have required that I fill out a in depth background check form- listing all of my employers of the last 5 years... I had five jobs just last year. This is what I'm working with her people. This position will have many many benefits, both financially... I guess financially. Oh and I'll have health insurance.

A past-supervisor moved to LA a few years ago and has since written a book. She is looking for an intern to help her with the marketing of her literary baby. When she asked if I knew anyone interested in the position, I knew that she was being coy. Unlike the other job, this one would pay me nothing but give me lots and lots of experience in the field of my actual interest.

UGH.

Here's what I am going to do: I am going to complete this application process. I do actually hope that I get this job. I will use all of my Daddy Fatstacks cash to buy canvases, paint, film and an external hard drive. I will make the art that is burning holes- the size of the dots seen on the back of your eyelids from staring at the sun too long- into my brain (which in scale to your brain are rather large). I am going to tell Writer that I can offer her my weekends, and see what she says. We work very well together, and marketing this book will be really exciting and fun and fresh feeling.

I want both of these things. I want to walk into both doors. It makes me imagine buildings in Brooklyn with two front doors, both of which you need to be buzzed into. Some of them are spaced so that you can easily make it through, or even hold them open simultaneously. Others require the stretch of a gymnast. You're holding the front door with an outstretched right leg, straining your calf in a way not unlike the first time you did yoga in 2000. Your left hand is inches away from the hinges, and secretly you fear for your fingertips- as you smile for the woman with the stroller that you're straining for in the first place.

I hope it doesn't end like that.

"You went there to find yourself. Not to work in a bank."

I'm not so sure about that. It might take working in a bank, to find myself. Considering I don't know where I got lost in the first place.