Captain’s log, date July something (the computer tells me 9th) 2015. I have entered into my third week of unemployment. I am clothed in pjs and lying in bed. I have not secured a job, but it would be deceitful to say I was really trying. Every so often I look on the sites, pick out a few which seem the least terrible (only a couple have been of actual interest), and apply. My resume has been edited and I’m quite handy at cover letters, but I haven’t heard responses from any that I’ve reached out to.
Today I finally got a response. I was scrolling through craigslist and saw HELP WANTED for a weekend gig riding bicycles as advertisements for 17 bucks an hour.
Supplemental; I am officially broke. I have maybe 50 bucks to my name. I survived the worst time of the month, beaten and bruised (and no, not my period, you turds, the end of the month where all our loose ends whip us like slaves.) I had to borrow money from my parents to tie up the last of the knots. I say that shamefully, my pride persuades me so, although I am grateful, grateful, grateful that they had my back— I slowly call for help and reluctantly grab the rope that saves me.
I got a quick reply telling me to fill out an employment profile. I did so, promptly called her and scored a position as a sign spinner for the next two days. I will be taking home a sum of pretty polly in my platties.
I laugh when I say it—sign spinner! I giggle with excitement.
Supplemental; The truth is that I don’t really want a career right now. There is this sense of urgency and pressure that pushes me in that direction. If I really wanted a job, I’d march up and get it. I’ve got the skills! the education! the looks! the brains! the youth! an enthusiastic and creative asset to the team, 110 wpm, interpersonal, some office experience—blah, blah, blah.
I much rather prefer to sit around like I’m doing now, still in my pjs at 3:45pm, writing and reading and piddling around. Now see, if I could do that, I’d do it well—writing, I mean (although I am a Professional Piddler). Right now I feel like I’m fishing and hoping for a bite, a spark, something. Is a professional writer as sensible as a professional piddler? Is it the same? Do I have to piddle more to find out? I certainly need to write more. What is piddling anyways? Maybe a productive piddler could do it.
I am a professional piddler. The problem with corporate America is that everybody stays busy to keep from thinking. As a PP I promise to stay thinking to keep from being busy. Busyness is an imitator of business, and everybody has mistaken them for one another at some point. I do not like busywork. I value my time and yours, so the work I do is the work I care about. Also, my wpm is 110.
I believe I would be a very valuable asset to your company.