The heartache of job hunts
I have a coworker - a sweet, sweet guy who is truly good at what he does and who I respect more than anything - who has a nasty habit of saying the exact worst thing to me. He swings by my tiny little work station in the room with the freezer for processing new collections, and my blood pressure instantly rises. I know he's just trying to make small talk, but "So, how much longer will you be around?" and "How much grant money does Becky [our boss] still have for you?" "How is the job hunt? You really haven't heard back from anybody?"
I want to puke. I want to cry. I want to drop of the floor and flail and scream and give physical manifestation to the stress that's building up inside me.
Things have been better since getting that new retail job, but budget money for me at the Burke is rapidly running out. There are no other part-time museum jobs in town right now that I could easily pick up. There is DEFINITELY not enough hours to go around at the retail job to make up the difference. Add to that the significantly-more-than-rent amount I just plopped down to get a cavity filled and wisdom tooth pulled (sans insurance, of course), and I am ready to run screaming through the streets.
Chris helps, but I still hate asking him for money. Right now he basically pays for all of my food: I make dinner for us on the weekends, and when we go to the store he pays for everything. Inevitably some things end up in the cart that aren't actually part of the recipe, plus the portions I make are huge so that I can bring leftovers home.
I miss the old me. The me I was when I was still in grad school, or even before that in Portland. The me was interesting and creative and did things with her free time. The me with pink hair. Current me is brunette and frets constantly and is boring and has no free time. I long to make something with my hands, to bead, to write, to draw, but...when? How? I can't afford beads. I don't have time to draw. I found time to type this by slacking off.
I do have one major bright spot on the horizon: a zoo in southern California want me to have phone interview. Yes, this would mean moving away from everyone and everything I love, and yes this would mean moving to the desert (I am a fern that belongs in soggy, cold soil, I can't imagine I will do well among the cacti), but...a zoo! A zoo! A really good zoo, too! And I would be working in a museum-type capacity. And I need a full-time job.
HOLY FUCKING SHIT DO I EVER NEED A FULL TIME JOB.
I actually found myself praying to a god I don't really believe in that this works out, that there isn't anyone out there who applied who is more qualified than me. They will be able to hear and smell the desperation in my voice through the phone.
Please great supposed universal life force, let me get this job.
I want to puke. I want to cry. I want to drop of the floor and flail and scream and give physical manifestation to the stress that's building up inside me.
Things have been better since getting that new retail job, but budget money for me at the Burke is rapidly running out. There are no other part-time museum jobs in town right now that I could easily pick up. There is DEFINITELY not enough hours to go around at the retail job to make up the difference. Add to that the significantly-more-than-rent amount I just plopped down to get a cavity filled and wisdom tooth pulled (sans insurance, of course), and I am ready to run screaming through the streets.
Chris helps, but I still hate asking him for money. Right now he basically pays for all of my food: I make dinner for us on the weekends, and when we go to the store he pays for everything. Inevitably some things end up in the cart that aren't actually part of the recipe, plus the portions I make are huge so that I can bring leftovers home.
I miss the old me. The me I was when I was still in grad school, or even before that in Portland. The me was interesting and creative and did things with her free time. The me with pink hair. Current me is brunette and frets constantly and is boring and has no free time. I long to make something with my hands, to bead, to write, to draw, but...when? How? I can't afford beads. I don't have time to draw. I found time to type this by slacking off.
I do have one major bright spot on the horizon: a zoo in southern California want me to have phone interview. Yes, this would mean moving away from everyone and everything I love, and yes this would mean moving to the desert (I am a fern that belongs in soggy, cold soil, I can't imagine I will do well among the cacti), but...a zoo! A zoo! A really good zoo, too! And I would be working in a museum-type capacity. And I need a full-time job.
HOLY FUCKING SHIT DO I EVER NEED A FULL TIME JOB.
I actually found myself praying to a god I don't really believe in that this works out, that there isn't anyone out there who applied who is more qualified than me. They will be able to hear and smell the desperation in my voice through the phone.
Please great supposed universal life force, let me get this job.