Lonely
Missed my friends a lot today. I could go weeks without seeing them in Eugene and be okay because I knew they were there. Not knowing they're there is the worst.
I guess I should mention that the anniversary of my rape went fine. I don't remember what I did that day, probably nothing important. The lead up was a lot harder--the last weekend in April I was having panic attacks and generally miserable thoughts, but I think that that had as much to do with the constant rejections from employers and the stress of being in a new place.
I'm still applying for writing jobs, but with other people graduating soon, the bar jumps significantly, so now I'm just going to apply to a few, and not with any hope. Instead, I've turned my eyes to more plebian pursuits--shelf stocking. The benefit of living here is that they always need unskilled labor--Issaquah doesn't have the huge college/high school population that Corvallis and Eugene did. I refuse to do fast food unless my life depends on it, but I could be a waitress or lift boxes. It'll suck, but it's something, and my dad gave me a bit of an ultimatum that translates to stop sitting on your ass. What I really want to be is a bartender, but something tells me my strict Mormon parents wouldn't be kosher with that. Oh, and the lack of bars. As it is, I'm crossing my fingers for the applications I've sent to the library and the local book store. At least then I could be around something I love. Yeah, right. I can't even get a job I'm qualified for. After a summer of that, I'll try for a post-grad internship in the fall, when the internships are not competitive, HOPEFULLY I'll find something paid, and hopefully the people will actually email me back after a brief conversation giving me false hope that of course I would get this internship because there are no other applicants and then I don't hear back from them ever ever ever. I want to go to Washington and report on politics, politics, nothing but politics. Either that or be a food critic.
To that end, I gave into my father and am creating a website analyzing the political candidates and comparing them, because the sites that are doing that right now are, well, not that good. The problem is, I'm not a programmer. I can do the research fine, but programming is a pain and a half, especially when I'm going for interactive. What little programming skills I do have go towards making something look NOT HORRIBLE, and not on whatever else. When it's complete, it should have polls, games, links to everything under the sun, podcasts, and glory knows what else. It will be stupendous.
Anyway, if I ever DO get it up, you'll be the first to know.
-Jenny
PS: In said conversation with my father, my dad said that the reason Iraq failed was that the Arab people acted like Arabs, and that it's not possible for Arab people to attain uncorrupt self-government. I coughed the name Jack Abramoff to no response. He also told me that Barack Obama is a joke name. Ever wonder why I'm not as politically correct as I'd like to be, why sometimes I have a hard time embracing tolerance with a full heart? Well, now you know.
I suppose it's slightly better than my grandfather--who still calls blacks "those people."
I guess I should mention that the anniversary of my rape went fine. I don't remember what I did that day, probably nothing important. The lead up was a lot harder--the last weekend in April I was having panic attacks and generally miserable thoughts, but I think that that had as much to do with the constant rejections from employers and the stress of being in a new place.
I'm still applying for writing jobs, but with other people graduating soon, the bar jumps significantly, so now I'm just going to apply to a few, and not with any hope. Instead, I've turned my eyes to more plebian pursuits--shelf stocking. The benefit of living here is that they always need unskilled labor--Issaquah doesn't have the huge college/high school population that Corvallis and Eugene did. I refuse to do fast food unless my life depends on it, but I could be a waitress or lift boxes. It'll suck, but it's something, and my dad gave me a bit of an ultimatum that translates to stop sitting on your ass. What I really want to be is a bartender, but something tells me my strict Mormon parents wouldn't be kosher with that. Oh, and the lack of bars. As it is, I'm crossing my fingers for the applications I've sent to the library and the local book store. At least then I could be around something I love. Yeah, right. I can't even get a job I'm qualified for. After a summer of that, I'll try for a post-grad internship in the fall, when the internships are not competitive, HOPEFULLY I'll find something paid, and hopefully the people will actually email me back after a brief conversation giving me false hope that of course I would get this internship because there are no other applicants and then I don't hear back from them ever ever ever. I want to go to Washington and report on politics, politics, nothing but politics. Either that or be a food critic.
To that end, I gave into my father and am creating a website analyzing the political candidates and comparing them, because the sites that are doing that right now are, well, not that good. The problem is, I'm not a programmer. I can do the research fine, but programming is a pain and a half, especially when I'm going for interactive. What little programming skills I do have go towards making something look NOT HORRIBLE, and not on whatever else. When it's complete, it should have polls, games, links to everything under the sun, podcasts, and glory knows what else. It will be stupendous.
Anyway, if I ever DO get it up, you'll be the first to know.
-Jenny
PS: In said conversation with my father, my dad said that the reason Iraq failed was that the Arab people acted like Arabs, and that it's not possible for Arab people to attain uncorrupt self-government. I coughed the name Jack Abramoff to no response. He also told me that Barack Obama is a joke name. Ever wonder why I'm not as politically correct as I'd like to be, why sometimes I have a hard time embracing tolerance with a full heart? Well, now you know.
I suppose it's slightly better than my grandfather--who still calls blacks "those people."