I don’t want to brag (that’s not really true, yes I do) but I was really good at school. Sort of. I actually dropped out of high school and probably would have graduated with a D-average if I hadn’t. But once I got to college where I was able to figure out what I enjoyed and didn’t have to wake up at 4:30am to ride a bus, it was great. Sure, I was lucky enough to go to a school where I able to legitimately study the academic merits of children’s books and graphic novels and I cared about it tremendously. Despite the popular misconception, this was not an easy path to a degree, but it was probably the only one where you get to read Donald Duck comics. I worked really hard, I even wrote an essay a few hours after I had my gallbladder removed even though my professor was pretty insistent that it wasn’t necessary. And I did all that because, a) teachers would write really nice notes to me about how good I was at writing about Teen Wolf and who doesn’t love positive reinforcement or Michael J. Fox? Not a lot of people. And b) because I thought being an amazing student would lead to me having an amazing job making amazingish money (I never expected money from reading Donald Duck comics).

Cut to now. I’ve been out of school long enough that I haven’t been a “recent graduate” for a few years. For the most part, I can’t complain about my life too much. Sure things could be better, but I’m incredibly lucky to be the position that I’m in. And while I worked hard to get where I am, I’ve realized that the thing presently holding me back from an amazing job and amazingish money is that I need to constantly remind myself to keep working hard. The majority of my capacity to care was used up in college. I feel like I cared enough then so I shouldn’t have care now (except about my cat and my purple Schwinn, both of whom I love dearly). But that doesn’t really make a lot of sense. I have to care more all the time. You probably do too.

              

That Orange Jello Salad was a week old before I took a picture and I tried to eat it. This is an example of one of the many things I could have cared about more. There’s a chance that even if I had cared more it still wouldn’t have come out, but I’m willing wager those marshmallows wouldn’t have completely rotted before I finally got around to eating it. I guess I deserved that.

Everyone is sick. There’s something going around, because there’s pretty much always something going around. But in this instance it’s going around around me. No one likes having a cold, myself especially (you may disagree with that opinion, that’s okay (and also wrong)). The only foreseeable upside I can potentially see for my impending illness is that I bought a ton of Mucinex that I got on sale, but I’m going to fit this like Orcs trying to get into Minas Tirith (using magic and ghosts).

              

If you’re someone who’s not presently suffering from nasal congestion but still long for the taste of Dimetapp then you probably would have enjoyed (fruit cocktail thing) more than I because I don’t share your opinion about Dimetapp. The recipe called for any flavor Jello, a can of fruit cocktail, and some optional walnuts which are then coagulated into what I believe is the bare minimum of something that can be called a recipe.

I feel like my life consists of lot of almost accomplishments. Things almost work out in my favor, which in itself is sort of a success, but not an actual success because I didn’t actually succeed. This largely applies to very good jobs that send me very nice rejection letters. It’s nice that they thought highly enough of me to acknowledge that I wanted to work for them and then apologize for not wanting me to. But I still didn’t get the job.

              

Layered Cheese and Apples was almost a success. It sat in my refrigerator for two days, perfectly intact with two distinct layers and I should have called it a truce there. I didn’t. It’s hard to say what went wrong in the end, that I packed it in a cooler of dry ice and brought it to Delaware or that the apples got watery or that the former caused the latter. I’ll never know. But what I do know is that no one wants to eat Jello water out of a bowl with apples floating around in it even though it was actually kind of good. Kind of.

This past week I left what I will refer to as the worst job I’ve ever had in my life. Some people can put up with a lot for a paycheck. I am not one of those people. It’s not that I’m spoiled as much as I’ve become accustomed to not having money in exchange for the flexibility to watch Deadwood with my cat all day. I think that’s pretty reasonable.

At the core, what really made the job such a profoundly unpleasant experience is that my boss’s expectations didn’t quite match my own. For example, given that I was hired as an administrative assistant, I didn’t expect that a large portion of my job would include duties like: chopping my boss’s lunch into tiny pieces, rinsing sauce off of meatballs because there was too much, being berated for giving my boss a small spoon instead of a large spoon. Though in his defense he had a point when he flung it off his desk and said “I can’t use this!” The point of course being that some people are the scum of the earth and it’s just best to steal some office supplies and move on.

I started that job banking on it not being miserable, but the reality of a situation rarely matches its expectations. Sometimes, especially if you get a job in the financial industry when you majored in kids’ books and film, it’s best to set the bar pretty low. Or maybe just don’t set it at all, the stand is a pain to put together.

The thing I can say about Vegetables in Sour Cream is that at least it’s honest. “A well-seasoned salad, fairly bursting with crisp vegetables.” Yeah, sure. It’s got some bouillon cubes and an adequate amount of vegetables within it, most of which were  fresh to the point of crispness. It certainly isn’t something I plan on finishing; it tasted like coleslaw flavored baby food. But it was alright enough to at least save in the refrigerator in the chance I might (but probably (definitely) won’t) decide to eat more.

My overarching point: stop having expectations, but if you have to at least keep them low. And that I’m looking for a new job.

It’s the New Year! Last year I resolved to make every recipe in The Joys of Jello. Needless to say, I haven’t—though in my defense I’m a chronic avoider and excuse maker. But I’m a sucker for trying to better myself in accordance with the arbitrary-yet-culturally-significant start of the Gregorian calendar and I’m feeling pretty confident that this is going to be THE year. Which is a notion that I’m aware is as abstract as time itself, but still… I’m pretty sure it’s going to be awesome and that if even only for a fleeting moment, I’ll have great abs.

I’m not much of a party person. I enjoy going, but I usually complain that it’s too loud, talk to four people, and then leave early. If this is any indicator, as a teenager I would fantasize about having quiet parties with my favorite NPR personalities, where we would talk about the Civil War and Presidential history (Sarah Vowell, call me!) I love having things to get excited about though and the new year is perfect that. There’s just so much potential and shiny things. Like every year, the glitter outlasts any sense of hope that it will a “THE year.” Except for this year. Everything is going to be different.

In the time that I’ve had this blog, I’ve learned a lot about myself. Like that I’m capable of flippantly wasting food and that I have a little freckle on my shoulder I never noticed before. And also that I’m not as expertly skilled at making things as well as I like to think I am.

I was pretty sure the Crown Jewel Dessert was going to be magnum opus. It wasn’t. Much like New Years, it looks fun and exotic, but underneath all the glamor it’s just Jello and Cool Whip. That’s not to say it isn’t good, but it’s not worth wearing high heels for.