Weighing and sifting and shifting

I got another job offer earlier this week. Kind of strange. An employer I interviewed with last fall called and asked if I was still looking. I said I was employed, but would consider an offer if it paid more and meant a shorter commute. The gentleman told me I would have to interview again, and he would get back to me. I had heard via the grapevine, i.e., Boyfriend, that the gentleman had accepted a position at another employer. In point of fact, he got a job for which I had interviewed, and I had wanted, and which I did not get. How's that for twisting you up in knots and putting a bow on top?

Three weeks passed. The gentleman did not call before he left for his new job. I figured I did not get the job he had called about. Then a previously unknown lady called and offered me a job. I said I needed to consider it, and to visit the now-named branch. I did visit. It was not a thrill. Not as pretty as where I work now. Less staff. Just a little more money. Nine-minute commute. Worrisome finances at the city level. I waffled muchly. Wavered. Made a decision matrix which came out just about even. Decided against the offer. Could not go through another few years of layoffs and budget cuts and shifting sands. Call me a coward. I know it is part of the public librarian's lot. But not this time. I hope I have not burnt that bridge forever. Libraryland is such a tiny town. Meanwhile, while I waffled, the lady-job-offerer announced her retirement. So six ways to Sunday I was not going to be working for whomever hired me. (Whomever is not direct object in that sentence? Am too tired thinking about all this to even consider fixing muddy grammar. Ouch.)

Well, I did feel better about my little branch and my employer after I decided to stay. Truly. To be hackneyed, the commitment was a relief. But, believe it or not, I had an email late that same afternoon from Personnel asking if I wanted to interview with my current employer for a much higher-level position. I did a little magical thinking* and said "Karma?" No duh I said yes.

I asked around at little, as there was no vacancy at that level listed on our internal phone directory. It is believed that the position is head of Technical Services and Collection Development. I was worried it was head of PR. Though I have the writing skills, the idea of dressing for the possibility of video cameras every day was not filling me with ecstacy. Would mean more money and a shorter commute. Also, starting all over on probation. (I am three months into the sixth month probation on current job. This could mean no job to fall back on!)

Hassling about authority files and vendor contracts and contemplating FRBRizing our catalog does fill me with ecstasy. Eek. I wish I felt more qualified. I am assuming the interview (Friday at 4:45--send good thoughts) will be with the Deputy Directors. BIG EEK. Concerns about clothing and condition of nails. Already chewed one off over turning down job offer. (I said no to more money and a shorter commute? How crazy am I?)

So I am going for a manicure. Contemplating a new outfit. Scared that any outlay of cash will somehow jinx the offer on the condo in Philly.

*Magical thinking is something of the norm for me. I am deeply superstitious about money and health. Magical thinking gives me some tenuous feeling of control. I finished The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion yesterday. I actually tried to give a synopsis in a meeting on Thursday. Not easy. Mind blowing. Towering. Elegaic. Elegant.

I loved the bits of poetry scattered throughout. The leitmotifs of "more than one more day." Didion "uses the white space" as one of my art director friends explained it to me many years ago; what isn't there, what is unsaid is left so full of meaning.

Unlike most mortals, Didion doesn't shy away from death or grieving. I thank her for that. She captures the crazy need for constructs and explanations that attend our most frightened moments. "Not getting over it"; "wallowing"; setting off the traps of loss. Didion didn't stop thinking, even when it was magical.

There is a little trick with the type colors on the cover of the book. I thought it was just a style thing, like the cover of On Beauty. But early last week, Boyfriend glanced at the book and said, "Who's John?" I replied over my shoulder, "John Gregory Dunne, of course," thinking he was looking at the dedication. Then I saw he hadn't opened the book at all. The grey letters on the cover spell J-O-H-N. The book is about John, and dedicated to him as well. The subject heading on Open Worldcat claim it is a biography. Maybe barely sort of. Maybe a biography of Didion? An autobiography? A biography of their marriage? A memoir, or a study?

I spent time while reading thinking about alluvial fans and Gerard Manley Hopkins--not exactly fodder for a biography. The fourth graders in my part of California have an assignment to read a biography this month. "It cannot be fiction," one told me with great gravity. I almost got caught up in questioning the difference between fiction and nonfiction with him. (Saints preserve us when I wax philosophical on fourth graders.) This book was classed as biography in my library. But I would be tempted to but it in with grief (155? 248? subjective subjects). But isn't magical thinking the basis for most fiction? Instead of wondering and worrying, I should get ready to shift all of reference, as my library continues our "Big Shift". Still thinking, magically and not...