Ok, I had to start with something about someone else, because the rest of this post is going to focus on ME, ME, ME. As my Annie Reynolds once said, it's time to get my real on.
I got a job. I didn't even tell anyone for a few hours, and still other people in my "inner circle" for a few days, because it's a job, not a career (the pay will scarcely cover my bare-minimum living expenses). Still, it's a job. Sometimes it doesn't feel true that I once again have somewhere I need to be every day, once again I will draw money from some corporate bank account and deposit it into my own to pay for things like, oh, you know, rent and the haircut I have so desperately needed. (The crop of snarly hair sitting atop my head is an abomination.) I am so incredibly grateful that I have the chance to work. While slopping around in the jobless mire I learned this lesson hard and cold. I suppose this is all to my long-term benefit that I experienced this humility gala now, but holy shiz, glad am I that it is done and done. And with that my pretties, I say have a good day at work tomorrow.
On October 3 I got laid off, which I have mentioned a few times already on this here blog. I nursed my woes by scooping deeply from a Yogurtland troff that evening, watched Lars and the Real Girl, and then the next morning felt quite rejuvenated and confident I would have another job in a matter of days. Come on, I'm bilingual, have had great jobs in the past and maintain close, friendly contact with previous employers. I did the BYU diploma thing -- what's to not love about my employee channel? I bring loads to the table. Loads.
Then followed 3 months of a quiet horror. At first I had lofty ideals of the jobs I would consider, but my selectiveness waned in direct correlation to my funds. However, even as I became willing to broaden my interests, the great American economy did not listen. While I knew I was one of many talented people in the "Day Club", I began to interpret my lack of responsibility as lack of capability. The bloom wore off the rose of total liberation at warp speed, and I felt jealous of my gainfully employed, needed, useful friends and family. I missed my business-cazh clothing and loathed the 12 year old "hoodie" look that my daily activities merited. Grandpa McOmber was right when he said to be grateful for hard work, because we'd be miserable without it. I wondered how long the economy, in all cruelty, could remain so horribly flat-lined.