Internal melee
O mon dieu. Yes, people, the deconstructionist is alive and well and still writing -- only not in the blog...cover letters to be exact. You see, I have no job. I know you knew that. Only, I didn't.
For the past two and a half months, I've lived the high life (and not like the free-lovin' hairy armpitted hippies circa 1972...more like the cigarette-smoking, wine-sipping well-groomed trust fund yuppie wannabe circa 1986). Tax return season came and went, and although I've always had my dreams of being a successful professional oozing with fabulosity in mind, I've been a bit lazy in my search for the perfect job.
For example, I wake up at 8:30 am. I'm sure some of youse guys are rolling your eyes in jealous disgust, but hear me out, people. It's really easy to sleep till noon when you're your own boss and well, I'm not gonna go into defensive mode over this one.
Anyway, I piss away my mornings drinking coffee, searching the Internet, writing e-mails to my one friend who pisses away his morning as well, only in his office -- at WORK -- and then I'm off to work out, the one good thing that's come of my recent self-inflicted unemployment.
Lunch, shower, a little bit of TV and all of a sudden it's 2 in the afternoon. I freak out and either write a much-dreaded cover letter and tweak the resume and send it out into the void or try to think of ways to contribute to my sad portfolio and if I'm lucky, actually write something with the best intentions of contributing to the portfolio. Then in a fit of self-doubt, scrap the project and go to the grocery store and see all the mommies with their stretch pants and name-brand purses that are bigger than mine, another sign that I'm not ready for this kind of life yet. This girl needs to make some serious money first.
Which brings me to the point of this post. So I've stepped up my game and although my heart's been broken a couple of times (I've been turned away from some really great prospects as of late), I've devised a plan to keep on keepin' on, to heed the advice of the Brady kids. Only I will kick it up a notch and not let myself be paralyzed by procrastination and self-doubt. Or rejection (those mutherfuckers don't know what they're missing).
So, yeah. If I haven't alienated all five of my readers yet, thanks for reading and letting me indulge in this semi-public display of inert spoiled-ness.
For the past two and a half months, I've lived the high life (and not like the free-lovin' hairy armpitted hippies circa 1972...more like the cigarette-smoking, wine-sipping well-groomed trust fund yuppie wannabe circa 1986). Tax return season came and went, and although I've always had my dreams of being a successful professional oozing with fabulosity in mind, I've been a bit lazy in my search for the perfect job.
For example, I wake up at 8:30 am. I'm sure some of youse guys are rolling your eyes in jealous disgust, but hear me out, people. It's really easy to sleep till noon when you're your own boss and well, I'm not gonna go into defensive mode over this one.
Anyway, I piss away my mornings drinking coffee, searching the Internet, writing e-mails to my one friend who pisses away his morning as well, only in his office -- at WORK -- and then I'm off to work out, the one good thing that's come of my recent self-inflicted unemployment.
Lunch, shower, a little bit of TV and all of a sudden it's 2 in the afternoon. I freak out and either write a much-dreaded cover letter and tweak the resume and send it out into the void or try to think of ways to contribute to my sad portfolio and if I'm lucky, actually write something with the best intentions of contributing to the portfolio. Then in a fit of self-doubt, scrap the project and go to the grocery store and see all the mommies with their stretch pants and name-brand purses that are bigger than mine, another sign that I'm not ready for this kind of life yet. This girl needs to make some serious money first.
Which brings me to the point of this post. So I've stepped up my game and although my heart's been broken a couple of times (I've been turned away from some really great prospects as of late), I've devised a plan to keep on keepin' on, to heed the advice of the Brady kids. Only I will kick it up a notch and not let myself be paralyzed by procrastination and self-doubt. Or rejection (those mutherfuckers don't know what they're missing).
So, yeah. If I haven't alienated all five of my readers yet, thanks for reading and letting me indulge in this semi-public display of inert spoiled-ness.
posted by deconstructionist at 1:45 PM
1 Comments:
You Rock my pants off!
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