My groggily working on my resume, tonight’s fun project, had me reviewing and thinking and churning.

Maybe it’s some meta-Freudian subconscious thing, but I can’t hold onto a decent copy of my resume. First, a while back I realized the best version of my resume was left on my former employer’s computer. No problem, I had paper printouts. Only somewhere in my apartment emptying, they must have been left in the recycling bin.

Then, I typed up a swell new version and began the needed updates to reflect the goals of the new, non-academic-administrating me. Only before I backed it up anywhere (d’oh) I fucked my Powerbook and may very well have vaporized it. (Could be the data recovery and repair I’m waiting on will make it all better, but since I’m pretty sure my hard drive died. I’m not counting on it.)

Then, I dug up my old IBM ThinkPad (running Win95, a rocking OS when I bought it) that had a circa 2000 resume on it. Cool, cool, cool, since I was at the same place of employ from 1997 until the incident. Only when I cracked it open tonight to retype everything (since none of the ports it uses are currently in fashion) something crackly happened with the screen and the display is all trippy colored lights and spots.

Finally, I hooked up a monitor and typed away. Fucking Whew.

Now, I’m refining the timeline, because I want to make sure I have all of my promotions and exemplary work record reflected. Bwahaha. So I went back through this space and realized the night before the troubles began, I wise cracked about losing my job. The fucking night before. I’m a witch I swear.

But, the most important sign of all was talking to a friend of mine from comedy last night. She was majorly stressed out and not feeling well and just generally having a bad day. Among the reasons was the pressure cooker of her boss’ working on needed stuff for his continued academic success. Like I once was, she is an administrator in an academic environment.

Anyway, her stress was palpably familiar to me. The weird edge of being a team player supporting others, yet knowing that at the end of the day it ain’t your team and if the “they” you support ain’t helping the ball club, you can’t do nothing about it.

Academia is a distinct environment and if you know others working there, you’ve heard the same stories over and over again. You end up ceding all control to the one personality at the top whose ego and needs must be coddled and fed. Generally, they are benign despots with compelling enough leadership and personality to allow a few pecadillos to pass forgiven, and the worthwhile goals of the body of work provide an esprit de corps.

But, when shit falls apart and they require your hand holding at midnight, goddamnit, they expect your full cooperation.

I’ve worked late shifts and crunch times in the private, for-profit sector, and yeah, there’s stress. Somehow, though, I never felt the emotional drain that I did in academic support. It’s not enough to just work late, they need to feel that you are completely committed to their needs, when they need you most.

I’m describing it poorly, but it’s the manipulative tone of disappointment I heard in the last conversation I had with my former director. The tone when I think she realized that I was choosing my own ventures over hers.

Obviously, I am projecting, but it’s that pressure that I read in my friend’s face last night.

I’m sure she will work out the middle ground she needs. For me, it was a reminder that even if my path is unclear right now, it’s the correct one.