Five days ago, I got a call from a recruiter at Pixar. She told me that, thanks for my time, but they were moving forward with another candidate. Three weeks ago, I’d interviewed up at their gorgeous campus in Emeryville. I’d felt welcomed, appreciated, accepted.
One week ago, I got an email from a well-known comics creator, informing me he’d have to pass on my short comic pitch for the time being. Five weeks ago, at the insistence of a mutual friend who’d loved my idea, I’d emailed the comics creator with my pitch. I’d thought it’d gone really well.
A month ago, I broke up with a very fantastic girl, whom I haven’t seen since. Three months ago I’d met her at a JET alumni event, and we hit it off immediately. Two months ago, we started dating, holding hands while watching Easy Rider in a cemetery. Five weeks ago, faulty communication and paranoia started putting stress on our relationship. Four weeks ago, I opened up her apartment door to find her drunk, afraid to talk through our issues.
Three months ago, I completely cut off ties with a close friend. We’d met six months earlier, and had grown very close very quickly. She confided in me and I in her, and we even dated briefly. Four months ago, we went on a trip to Las Vegas with friends, and she spent the entire time hanging off the arm of a mutual acquaintance. Two weeks after that, I gave her several expensive baseball tickets as a parting gift, and told her I didn’t want to see her again. Three months ago, I drove off as she threw them at my back window.
Four months ago, I told my workplace I didn’t want to stay around. Three months before that, I’d been made a liaison to the supervisors for my department. One month after that, my boss called me a liar and insulted my work to my face. One month after that, I worked 27 hours in a row to help out a company I didn’t feel respected me. Two weeks after that, they offered me a staff position as a tool-maker, not as an artist. Four months ago, I said no, and next month, I will finally stop making tools for them and go back to being an artist. An unemployed one.
One year ago, I left my job as a teacher. Three days later, I started work at a company that would come to make me miserable. Thirteen months later, I will finally leave it.
One year ago, one of my best friends broke my heart. Four months ago, a good friend broke my heart again. One month ago, I broke someone else’s.
One year ago, I came back from Japan. Tomorrow, I will be in the same place as I was then.