You know what? Looking for a job sucks. Desperation reeks worse than an un-bathed body, and I am two for two today. Putting on pants is pretty much the most work I do all day, and I'm beginning to think I'm even unqualified for that. Because that's the thing about job searching. By the time you get your 8 crabillionth rejection letter, you begin to doubt your own capabilities.
I've applied for jobs that I've been well qualified for, and I've gotten rejected. I've applied for jobs below my skill level, and I've gotten rejected. I've even applied for jobs a slightly above-average fourth grader would be able to pull off, and I've gotten rejected. What exactly, then, am I qualified to do?
Not much, it seems. I probably shouldn't sit at home without supervision. I barely trust myself to form coherent sentences anymore. And I definitely should not be allowed to operate the oven by myself. It's probably amazing that I know how to tie my shoes. But I have great references!
I have $3.93 in my checking account right now. I was no math major, but I'm pretty sure our monthly mortgage is going to be a lot more than $3.93. Which means, the longer I don't have a paycheck, the longer it will be before we can get into our house. So right now, I'm jobless, homeless, and just about penniless. Which, now that I think of it that way, is kind of hilariously ironic. Only picture me, if you will, laughing at this with that high-pitched cackle that gradually fades into an even higher-pitched scream.
As my pal Deidre recently said, after a while, all of this rejection makes you start to use words like "down-trodden." For me, down-trodden is so two weeks ago. I'm down right desolate. I'm the mother-flippin' Mayor of I Suckville and the pay sucks. And the only benefits offered are oodles of free time to dwell on how much this whole thing makes me want to get into a car, crank "Party in the USA" up to 11, and drive off a cliff with a pile of resumes sitting shotgun.
Now I've gone and worked myself into a tizzy. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to high-pitch cackle-scream into a pillow, pour myself a glass of wine, have a bath, and hope that I don't drown.