Getting to Happy

I had this interview last week, for a job in the media library downtown in the main branch of the system where I work. It's a great sounding job- working around music and dvd's, getting to do mostly reference work, and just chilling in a full-time job. 

One of the questions they asked was, "where do you see yourself in five years?" I said something to the effect of working in a music library. I don't see myself working in a library in five years, much less working so far from where I live.

I see myself still living in, or very close to, Denton. I love this town, it's quirkyness and eccentricities, and how close it is to so much, yet still retaining a small town feel. I've seen this place grow and change since I was a 14 year old freshman in high school, looking at the campus of UNT and saying that I too would walk those hallowed halls someday. Four years later, that was me and I've never looked back since. I've even said, "wow, they won't know all about this stuff" in relation to incoming students and new folks.

Ideally, I'd love a little house on a hill near the interstate where I could look down and see the lights of the city at night and listen to the hum of the traffic on the interstate, one of my favourite nighttime sounds. I'd love to have some acreage too and get into gardening. maybe can, pickle, preserve, maybe even have a root cellar.

I knit. I crochet. And maybe even do beading and quilling. Maybe I'll have finally learned how to sew and quilt too and my sewing machine has a great view of the garden. I write. Maybe I'll have finally published some great and wonderful story.

I'd love to be able to be in some job that I absolutely love and can't wait to get to work everyday. I want to, if possible, make my own schedule to some extent.

I'm probably still involved with faire and fencon and all that is fandom. I hope to be dancing more and going to bigger cons. I'd like to go back to aikido and at least become a black belt and still go on a regular basis. I'd like to have some really cool guy as a significant other. Maybe not kids yet, but adoption is always an option.

I cook a lot; at least a lot more than I do now. I have friends over. I'm more gregarious than I am now. I can actually talk back and not feel scared or like I have nothing to say or add to the conversation. I hold dancing house parties on an almost monthly basis. I have late night talks about whatever on the front porch with friends, slowly sipping on root beer out of bottles. Knowing me, I probably made it myself.

So yeah, happy. That's where I see myself five years from now.

I haven't heard back from the interview yet. I haven't heard from the other two jobs I applied for in the system. I want to have my weekends free come spring, but none of these jobs allow that. I want this to be the thing that catapults me into going back to school and eventually getting to all this stuff up there. I want this to be the thing that really gets me to happy. If that means hearing no, then fine. If it's yes and I can save, then that's fine too.

I just really want to be happy.

Is that really too much to ask?

♫give me what i deserve
cause it's my right ♫

It's a Show Day!

I stirred and woke up, wondering what town I was in now. Even in the darkness, I could sense and slightly see the drum major walk towards the door. The lights suddenly turned on, waking up the rest of the corps. 

"Good morning Pioneer!" she said. She told us where we were, that we had fifteen minutes before morning meeting and breakfast, and that today was a show day.

"It's a show day!" the red headed guard said, as she always did on such days. 

"Good morning Kendra," Nicole, another guard member, dutifully answered. 

And thus, our show day began. 

That was a typical morning on a show day. The other days were practice and show days. What were we doing?

Drum corps.

Tonight, I got to go to my show of the year, the Denton show as I call it. Ten years ago, I was one of those people, standing in the lot, playing for others. Getting up early. Practicing. Memorizing. Running. Performing. Eleven and a half minutes never flew by so quickly.

It was the summer of 2002 when I marched with Pioneer Drum and Bugle Corps out of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Pioneer is what was then referred to as a division one drum corps. These days, it's called world class. It all has to do with size. We had over a certain number of members, amongst other rules I'm sure.

The governing body of drum corps is Drum Corps International (DCI). They even call drum corps "marching's major league." In a way, it is. We all did eleven and a half minute shows on a football field. We marched, played music, and guard did flags, sabres, and rifles.

But, don't dare call it marching band. Because marching band it ain't!

Plus, there's no woodwinds. And people will get mad if you call it marching band.