Lost, Lost, My Precious

Ok, so, it’s not a great day. In fact, it’s kinda lousy. I rarely admit that, even to myself. So often it sounds like whining – insignificant compared to the trauma seem all around the world every day. Oh well, it’s still kind lousy.

So I got turned down for a Teaching Assistantship this coming fall. That’s a big blow. Being a TA is the best job I’ve had since starting college. It’s the only one which actually pays me enough to live on. I’ve got one last shot. They are still looking for a Visual Literacy TA for the UNO class, which means driving to Omaha three days a week. (Lots of gas and miles on a rundown car, but the professor lives in Lincoln too, so there may be carpooling opportunities.) I emailed the professor, and now sit with fingers crossed. The fact that I never actually took Viz Lit may work against me, but hey, I’m TAing right now for three classes I’ve never taken, so who knows?

The summer job boards are looking more and more grim. It’s raining and dreary outside. My studio project is barely stumbling along. But the worse thing is I’ve lost my mala.

I’ve lost the mala I’ve worn every day since getting it over two years ago. I’ve lost the simple rosewood mala with the yellow tassle I bought for myself at Shambhala Mountain Center with the money I’d saved particularly for that purpose. I’ve searched my home, all the usual places. I cleaned this weekend – just another reason why that was a bad idea – but I can’t imagine I would have moved it from the places I usually set it, on my dresser or on the coffee table. I looked under furniture and couch cushions, books, papers, laundry, bedding, everywhere. I keep reassuring myself it will turn up. I never take it off anywhere beside home. I keep reaching for it, but it’s not there around my neck, laying hard against my sternum today.

Is it not the end of irony that I’ve lost that thing which is supposed to remind me to be mindful and that I’m so attached to that things which is supposed to prompt me to be non-attached?