Since my last blog I've made so much progress in my job search! It turns out that even though I have two bachelor's and 3/4's of a master's degree, I am completely unqualified for any employment aside from being a greeter at the Wal-Marts, and that qualification comes from what I have been told is my God-given sunny disposition and not my UK-given education.
(Disclaimer: The more I think about it, the more I am actually quite convinced that I wouldn't even be hired as a greeter, because I not only refuse to use the correct name, insisting instead on saying the Wal-Marts, but also because I'm fairly certain that the one who declared my disposition to be "sunny" was being facetious since I am much more "cloudy with a chance of sarcastic smartass." Plus, I think you have to be 100-years-old to be a greeter, and though I'm getting close, but I'm not quite there yet.)
So, today instead of just sitting on Pinterest and looking for quotes to inspire my job search, I decided to take a more proactive approach and actually search for jobs. After about an hour of this, I came to the conclusion that I would have been much better off pinning super lame song lyrics, recipes I'll never use because I neither eat food nor do I have anyone who does eat food that I could prepare them for, or pictures of unnaturally skinny girls and their supposed workout plans to add to my thinspiration board to further the destruction of my terrible body image.
You see, the big problem with choosing jobs to apply for is that it means I have to choose my future, and I'm feeling all Robert Frost /"Road Not Taken" about it. There are two paths that I can choose from. Well, maybe they aren't even paths yet, per se, as they are both so convoluted and littered with trees, bushes and weeds (weeds with an s, not just plain weed. because clearly, if there was a path filled with hallucinogen-bearing plants I would choose that one and become a ridiculously rich drug lord and live my life all Blow-style and Johnny Depp and I would live happily ever after, because I would totally be more in control and sane and less cocaine-addicted than Penelope Cruz was in the movie and I'd save us before shit hit the fan).
Let's just say there are two directions that I can choose from. One direction is the normal, the safe, the expected. This is the choice that most people make, which makes perfect sense. It's the logical decision, and is the next step on the list of "How to be a Grown Up." (But, as the first rule on the list of "How to be a Grown Up" is actually never referring to yourself as a grown up, I'm obviously failing already). In this direction I make the parentals happy, stay in Lex, get a job at UK, and subsuquently die of boredom and self-disappointment.
The other direction is terrifying. It involves moving to a new city, all alone, and doing something that I have zero confidence in myself about being able to do (and I'm still not exactly sure of exactly what that's going to be yet, but many of you will be relieved to find that I have ruled out stripper, groupie, and merch girl for the moment--you're welcome). I want to write. I love it, it makes me feel alive and sane (i know, after reading this, you're questioning this sane thing. maybe less crazy is a better choice of wording). It terrifies me to think about being so vulnerable and trying to get a job based on my writing though. What if it's not good enough, if I'm not good enough? It would be the ultimate disappointment for me.
I guess that's part of the reason I make myself write this blog, though. It's like exercise for the writing part of my brain, and it makes me a little braver with every post. Plus, if I can make one person laugh, even though it is typically more laugh-at instead of a laugh-with, then that makes me feel so good. And maybe, just maybe, someone will read it one day and think, "Hey, you're a fairly decent and mildly amusing writer. Here you go, have this job."
The other direction is terrifying. It involves moving to a new city, all alone, and doing something that I have zero confidence in myself about being able to do (and I'm still not exactly sure of exactly what that's going to be yet, but many of you will be relieved to find that I have ruled out stripper, groupie, and merch girl for the moment--you're welcome). I want to write. I love it, it makes me feel alive and sane (i know, after reading this, you're questioning this sane thing. maybe less crazy is a better choice of wording). It terrifies me to think about being so vulnerable and trying to get a job based on my writing though. What if it's not good enough, if I'm not good enough? It would be the ultimate disappointment for me.
I guess that's part of the reason I make myself write this blog, though. It's like exercise for the writing part of my brain, and it makes me a little braver with every post. Plus, if I can make one person laugh, even though it is typically more laugh-at instead of a laugh-with, then that makes me feel so good. And maybe, just maybe, someone will read it one day and think, "Hey, you're a fairly decent and mildly amusing writer. Here you go, have this job."
So, if you've been able to follow this rambling mess to the end, then you deserve a fancy 25-layer rainbow Pinterest cake with homemade icing on a do-it-yoursef platter made from recycled bourbon barrels and mason jars or something like that. Just add your request to the comment section and I'll bake that right up. Or at least repin the recipe for you....
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