I was going to qualify that statement, but nope. That’s pretty much how I feel.
So, I work retail. I work what I like to think is one of the better kinds of retail - I like my store, the company isn’t terrible, the staff is fucking awesome - but still, it’s retail. It’ll make even the rosiest-cheeked caroler a cynic this time of year.
However! Being cynical is kind of really fun. Especially when you get the behind-the-scenes experience and, after you deal with the crazy-ass mother fuckers that actually line up outside your store to get a free goddamn ornament, you get to sneak back into the breakroom, nom on potluck food, and mock the shit out of them. There’s a sort of camaraderie in holiday retail that you don’t get anywhere else, and it’s a wondrously sarcastic silver-lining to the utter bullshit that will be every shift from today through Christmas Eve.
Anyway. There’s a lot going on in life right now, as always, and there’s not a lot of money. But there’s a whole lot of what you need to get by - family, love, support, and friends. It may be miles away and rely annoyingly heavily on the internet and phone lines to happen, but it’s there. So now, as shit is about to get long-ass days real, I just wanted to have a solid breath of fresh air before the madness ensues.
Also, somehow ensnared a few new followers, some of which I may lose when they realize I blah on like this from time to time. Here, have a Silver gif so you know I’m still pretty cool:
And also also, totally didn’t think through the manuscript-done-by-Christmas deadline in terms of my job-that-actually-pays-the-bills. Ah well. Pressure, diamonds, & etc.
Ta-ra for now!
Why does making money actually require going to work?
Goals, stop requiring so much of meeeeeee.
Six weeks ago I had no job. Last week my tutoring hours were doubled. Yesterday I got hired at a second job. Today I got a call to interview for another one.
They say good things happen in threes. I’m totally cool with bumping that up to 4+.
It’s a pretty sad moment when you sit down and, being completely honest with yourself, admit that what you want to do doesn’t exactly make sense. It’s more than sad when what you want - like, I dunno, a successful debut fantasy novel - is something in which you’ve already invested eighty pages and a shit-ton of time. However, I firmly stand with the Byrds when they say there is a time for everything. So while that project is what I want, I’m putting it aside for something a little more logical.
This new project is based on what I know - starting a life in England. So meet Andie Wright, my new, shamelessly semi-autobiographical protagonist. I’m only nine pages into her story, but I have a feeling that her story, rather than that of Jas Libra, clan princess in the land of Verdelan, is one young girls are going to find just a touch more relatable. And hilarious. And not only that, but I’m really hoping it’s one that publishers will find a helluva lot more marketable.
My name is Kathy and while I know I would be a fantastic employee and a worth-while investment for your company, previous experience would indicate that this is impossible to convey in a cover letter. Perhaps that is a reflection of my writing skills, as a talented enough writer would easily be able to communicate their extraordinary qualities as a candidate for the currently open position. I honestly do not care anymore, because the current job market and, more specifically, the lack of prospects for someone who has exceptionally completed everything they were told to do to succeed, is rather soul-crushing, and right now all I want to do is find whatever work I can to begin paying back my student loans.
I am passionate, diligent, and believe in myself. I know who I am, which if you know any twenty-two year olds, is more than most of today’s youth can say. Whether or not you find this letter to be convincing, offensive, or a joke, is not really my concern. The cover letter I used to send out was no less honest than this one: sentence after sentence of sincere interest in potential employers, followed by the truth: that I can handle the job and would be an ideal candidate. However, having received glacial reception from the professional world, I have since tossed that cover letter, and am now opting for a different brand of honesty.
Should you find that my qualifications in the provided resume suit your needs, or, more succinctly, if you are looking for a great employee, I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for your time in reading this.
One of the reasons I was never interested in politics in school was because of the immeasurable detachment I felt from the subject. It wasn’t so much that I felt I was incapable of having any effect on the government, but honestly moreso because I felt like regardless of whatever the hell the high-ups were doing, I believed my life would remain unchanged. There was a huge gap between Capitol hill and El Dorado Hills, and I assumed it would always stay that way.
Had the economy continued on the same course from the early 2000’s, I would probably still feel the same as I did in high school. I would have traipsed through college without having to rely on student loans and likely would have relied much more heavily on my parents as I casually aged from suburban teenager to adult. I wouldn’t have the complete independence I earned for the three years I lived in England, but as a trade-off, I would probably have had a job by now, four months after graduation. Instead, I’m lingering in a rather depressing purgatory of unemployment, in the special section cordoned off for humanities students that are more capable of writing a poem or analyzing Shakespeare than of landing a job to pay the rent.
I’m very lucky in that I saved enough money during my third year of uni to see me through these months of nothing, but that money’s about to run dry, and come December my student loan payments kick in. I also am lucky enough to not have to worry about rent, now that I live with my grandmother, who paid off her house in 1985 and still has the final payment check pinned on her noticeboard right above her electric typewriter. But that’s where my luck ends, and I am trying my hardest to not let my motivation sink to dangerously low levels.
You may or may not know that I have a tattoo. It’s a quill pen, done in gray-scale on the inside of my right forearm. I don’t blame a single person who hates tattoos, as it’s true that around ninety-five percent of the ones you see are absolute tripe. I also don’t judge people that think the symbolism behind many tattoos is ridiculous - lots of time this also is true. But I have never for a moment regretted my tattoo. It may sound utterly ridiculous, but it reminds me of what I love doing, and that is writing. I love writing more than anything. I see myself applying to countless jobs that make me feel a whole lot like this:
And I wonder why I’m unhappy. I completely understand that the number of people that get to do something they love is pathetically small, but right now I don’t even have a job. So what the hell is stopping me from doing what I love? Nothing. So it’s time to stop being bummed out and to do something with myself until somebody pulls my resumes out of the black hole I’ve been shooting them into and gives me a job.
Yes, those bills will start showing up, and yes, I’ll need to pay them. I’ll still keep applying, I’ll still keep wondering town hitting up every “Now Hiring” sign I’m depressingly both over- and under-qualified for until I find some paying work. But until then? I’m writing my novel. Because I’ve been putting it off for way to long, it’s the best thing I have going on right now, and it will get me writing again. And that, my friends, is something I definitely give a few fucks about.