"Even if I got rid of all my problems, I'd just go out and get new ones..."

Self-indulgent rant ahoy
7:28 p.m. on 2005-08-09

So I was rejected from another job today. Two in a week. The first was an actual, god damn secondment at the company at which I work, for a job which I already know and for which I do some of the work anyway. But no, I get nothing, just a copy letter. And the second was for a job I really wanted, that I would have been damn good at, that would have made me feel like I was actually going somewhere in my life and oh, I spent hours and frustrated tears over when doing the application and yup, there's another rejection letter on the doormat.

Not even an interview. I deserved an interview.

So eight months ago I decided, after a single week, that I hated my new job. I booked a holiday in the future because I knew, I knew that by the time it rolled around I would be in a new job. But now it's eight months later and I'm still stuck in that job I hate, and to go on this holiday I'll have to quit the job I hate, which in principle I don't mind, but will mean that upon my return I'll be 24 years old, living at home, unemployed, and with that shiny degree of mine in my back pocket.

And I know that I should stop whining and be positive and appreciate all the great things, like that I'm in a position to go on an amazing holiday, that I have a job that doesn't, for the most part, make me want to tear the flesh off my wrist with my teeth, that I have the family that will support me no matter what decision I make.

But for now, today, I want to just bury myself under my quilt, rip up that Durham alumni magazine that popped through the post a few days ago - y'know the ones, full of updates on old students who've been busy making their first million, aiding the cause of world peace, fixing the cleft palates of orphaned South American children and discovering new species in the depths of Antarctica - which wouldn't be so bad, if the students had graduated ten or fifteen years ago, but not three or four, y'know, a couple of years after me - panic that I'm going to be sixty years old and still doing some shitty clerical job that offers me zip in the way of challenge or job satisfaction, that I'm living in a granny flat at the back of my mother's house and she still does my ironing and oh, yeah, I'm using that degree I was once so proud of as a liner for the kitty litter trays for my thirty cats... watch endless amounts of naff tv and feed my face on Marks and Spencers cakes (the ones in the little tubs, three for a fiver) whilst at the same time feeling guilty over the fact that I've just eaten a weeks worth of calories in an hour.

*breathes*

Yeah. I'll be sane tomorrow.

Watching: Scrubs

Quote: "It's Leonard. Half kitten, half monkey."

<< >>