**I published this post last night, then made it private. Now I’m publishing again, because the minute I start censoring myself, I’m already failing as a writer. Also, there’s only so often I can write about how drunk I got on Friday.
I sat back today at my kitchen table earlier, tears streaming down my face, after receiving yet another very sweet, kindly worded rejection letter from a job position I wanted very badly. I knew I wasn’t getting it; things weren’t going in my favour. I have all of two kinda-sorta possibilities remaining, and one is another tech writing position.
When I told Chef later, he said, “But you didn’t really want it.” I asked what he meant and he said, “Well, you just didn’t seem like you were excited about it.”
He’s wrong, I did want it. The problem is I’ve lost all confidence in my ability to do anything. I’m not sure what my talents are anymore, or where my ambitions lie. I see jobs that are perfect for me but they’re perfect for 1000 other people too. I’ve been rejected by twice as many men as I have been rejected by jobs, but for some reason this stings more.
It’s infuriating that our careers can define us in this way. The next time you’re out somewhere, try telling someone a writer. Later, try telling someone you’re a doctor.
Dawne calls this part the “black hole of unemployment.” I’ve stopped going to the gym, I just don’t care to leave the house. I’m filled with self doubt and self pity and I spend hours upon hours scouring the Internet for jobs, letting people know I’m open. Flailing my arms around trying to get someone’s fucking attention.
What kind of job do I want anyway? Should I accept any kind of writing job? Should I hold out until the dream job comes along? Should I go back to the office?
I realize I’m wasting my golden opportunity. I ditched the cube, hooray. The cube ditched me. I can take my near maxed-out credit card and go travel, ignore my student debt and find some work as a bartender in Europe. Do you think I can get to New Zealand and find a place to live for $1000? I want to travel, travel, travel.
And how can I keep writing about things I love to write if I stop having new experiences?
In two years, I paid off huge chunks of debt. Huge. This was my ultimate goal, to deplete my financial burdens quickly. Now I’m watching it all come undone. One unexpected expense on top of another. The dentist the lost cell phone the wallet being stolen. Bills, bills, bills. Can you pay my telephone bills?
After last week’s royal engagement was announced, some big-wig entertainment site posted a photo essay of celebs with their massive engagement rings. Some were worth $500,000 or more. I want to shake someone because it doesn’t make sense. Do you realize just $30,000 would change my life? I’m not poor by any means but come on.
Maybe I’ll go back to school. Maybe I’ll stay in St. John’s. Maybe my EI benefits need to run out so I can make a freaking decision.
Believe me, I know this is the wrong attitude to have, and any potential employer wouldn’t be impressed by reading this. I’m not expecting sympathy here, I’m just having a bad week. Also, can’t figure out how to disable my fucking comments.