Torture, thy name is Unemployment
This week i made three beautiful cover letters, and three custom-made resumes, fed-exed them all in beautiful fedex envelopes. The fact that no-one even emails to say "You suck" makes me seriously contemplate ending my life. It's not like i'm applying to CEO jobs; i am perfectly qualified for these jobs; see in my resume how i've done exactly what it is you need someone for. It's like pitching pebbles into a bottomless well. The void is soul-shattering.
I know that i may need to apply to three hundred jobs before even getting one interview, but working on a new resume and cover letter for each one means two hours spent on each, times three hundred, is six hundred hours, divided by eight, is roughly 75 days (2.5 months) of toil with absolutely no response. My unemployment insurance will last that long, but i'm afraid i might not. I can be expected to change jobs 7 to 10 times in my lifetime. Already the future looks bleak, and i think of exciting ways to end it. Jumping out of a plane without a parachute? Sounds interesting. Oh wait, i already lost my job without a backup plan, so DONE THAT.
Speaking of suicide, I will be hosting 13 middle-school girls scouts at my house tomorrow. They will be SLEEPING OVER!!!!! Dun Dun Dun. What am i doing typing here? Back to frantic panicking!
Seriously though, there is cleaning and shopping do to, not to mention putting all my nail-polish bottles in a neat row for perusal. As far as i can tell, the source of GirlPower is nailpolish, or at least that's what i remember from working at The Limited II. (OMG, you worked at TL2? That's like totally my favorite store!)
Time to pass on some of my mature adult knowledge... like never EVER lose your frickin job.