I've been putting this post off for a while. I posted earlier about a job I came so close to getting after all these years, but came up short once again at the very end. That post was my optimistic look at the situation, and I planned to follow through with a pessimistic look at it.
But the truth is, I'm just not feeling it. And not only did that make it hard to motivate myself to want to do this, but it made me afraid to do it. I've actually been feeling pretty good lately. I've had things in my life to look forward to, even if gainful employment (and everything that comes with it) hasn't been one of those things. So I was afraid that if I looked inside myself for the gloomy outlook that I know still exists in here somewhere, I might just open that Pandora's box a bit too wide and gloom and depression would have dominion over me again.
However, I have more I've been wanting to say, and that means I need to get this post out of the way first. So on the bright side, it was a good sign that I got so close to a job, that had circumstances been different, I might be gainfully employed and living in my own apartment right now. On the bright side, I now know that it's at least possible.
But on the dark side....
On the dark side, that was a damn fucking good job I didn't get. The kind of job that doesn't come around very often. Gainful employment doing exactly what I want to do and exactly what I know I'm good at, while only having to work 80% of full time. Having an extra 20% to myself, to spend how I want. And working in a nice place with a nice bunch of people. That job was at the tip of my fingers, but it came down to five people who decided to pull it out of my hands after all. And just like that, my best shot at a great job is gone.
Now, I might get a job someday, sure. But the chances of me getting a job like that? Well, it just can't happen. I'm no stranger in life to unicorn hunting, but I've never managed to catch that damn unicorn. May have spotted a few, but they all got away. I should definitely not be getting my hopes up about being able to catch this particular unicorn. So no, I'm going to have to grind my life down working 40-45 hours a week or more, 49 weeks a year or more if I ever get a job at all. And granted, that is what most people do, but if there were a way I could have avoided that and had enough time to do some real traveling and whatnot, well it would have been through a job like that. A job I probably can't ever hope to have.
And then there's the other issue I've hinted at before and will hint at again: I want very little out of life. but the one thing I wanted more than anything, it's already probably too late for me to get that. And the reason it's too late is because I won't be getting a living wage until I'm God knows how old (33 and counting). I really needed to get there by my mid 20s at latest, but since I already didn't do that, I have next to no chance even if I get a job tomorrow. Even if I had gotten that job I'd have next to no chance. This is all for nothing.
That's about all I can write right now. I'm already feeling down from this, so I'll stop here and try to get myself back into good spirits. Things are going ok for me right now. I have things to look forward to. And my next post will actually be good news. Back to the bright side.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Further failure, part one: The bright side
I did not get the job. I still have one more day before I'm able to get really dark about this, so here's the bright side.
This was the closest I've ever gotten to landing a full time job in the library field. My previous best effort was a job in Indiana, where I absolutely crushed the phone and the webcam/presentation interviews, then drove there from two states away, only for them to show zero interest in me from the time I set foot in there until they sent me packing half an hour later. I was leading on the score cards for a few rounds, but in the final round I got knocked the fuck out and buried.
This time, I didn't get knocked out. I did well. I did really well. They spent close to three hours with me, enjoyed my presentation, and let me know in some way at more than one point that I'd impressed them. I went bell to bell and forced a difficult decision. "Yo, Adrian!"
They still went with someone else in the end. It sucks, and more on that later. But the good news is, I wasn't a joke. I just need to find the right jobs to apply for (not an easy task, but they come around now and then), get luck to go my way, and someday I could finally get that call. I was close. Maybe if my interview had been on a Tuesday after lunch instead of a Friday before lunch, or if I'd been elsewhere in the order, or if I'd worn a different color. Who knows, maybe it was just a little thing like that that ended up tipping the decision. It worked against me this time. Next time, maybe it can work for me and finally, after all this time, I'll have a new city for my chalk outline to circle.
The point is, I'm marketable. For the right kind of job, I can get far and get strong consideration. Possibly enough to be the one. I have enough experience, and now I have more confidence. I've learned from past mistakes. I've been able to adapt and force myself to become what I need to be (or, fake it for just long enough to get away with it). I now know I have the skill-set and experience, and all it will take is finding that right interview where the coin flip goes my way. This is no longer impossible.
Don't worry, the next post will be far less positive.
This was the closest I've ever gotten to landing a full time job in the library field. My previous best effort was a job in Indiana, where I absolutely crushed the phone and the webcam/presentation interviews, then drove there from two states away, only for them to show zero interest in me from the time I set foot in there until they sent me packing half an hour later. I was leading on the score cards for a few rounds, but in the final round I got knocked the fuck out and buried.
This time, I didn't get knocked out. I did well. I did really well. They spent close to three hours with me, enjoyed my presentation, and let me know in some way at more than one point that I'd impressed them. I went bell to bell and forced a difficult decision. "Yo, Adrian!"
They still went with someone else in the end. It sucks, and more on that later. But the good news is, I wasn't a joke. I just need to find the right jobs to apply for (not an easy task, but they come around now and then), get luck to go my way, and someday I could finally get that call. I was close. Maybe if my interview had been on a Tuesday after lunch instead of a Friday before lunch, or if I'd been elsewhere in the order, or if I'd worn a different color. Who knows, maybe it was just a little thing like that that ended up tipping the decision. It worked against me this time. Next time, maybe it can work for me and finally, after all this time, I'll have a new city for my chalk outline to circle.
The point is, I'm marketable. For the right kind of job, I can get far and get strong consideration. Possibly enough to be the one. I have enough experience, and now I have more confidence. I've learned from past mistakes. I've been able to adapt and force myself to become what I need to be (or, fake it for just long enough to get away with it). I now know I have the skill-set and experience, and all it will take is finding that right interview where the coin flip goes my way. This is no longer impossible.
Don't worry, the next post will be far less positive.
Friday, March 4, 2016
Fore.
Well...
I Recently mentioned that I had applied for two jobs. In that post I was unusually positive, because I'm giving up negativity for lent. Lent is not over, so this is going to be another unusually positive post. I'm actually rather reluctant to make posts like this, because I'm really messing with the formula here. If anyone comes here, it is not for positive vibes. In fact, after all these years I've definitely frightened away anybody who doesn't have the patience to commiserate with a miserable sad sack. If you're here, it's likely because of, not in spite of, the fact that I am a gigantic bummer.
So... my apologies to those who get a kick out of me being wretched. But the good news is that I think this shift in attitude has been good for me. I'm not wallowing in a pit of despair, for one. For another thing, well......
I got an interview for one of those jobs I applied for. First a phone interview, and then an in-person interview.
Now, I'm not saying this happened because of the power of positive thinking or any such nonsense. But not being able to crawl into negativity has definitely made the experience much easier.
Typically I would have spent the entire time leading up to the interview freaking the absolute holy fuck out and generally having anxiety attacks. Instead, I pushed those thoughts out of my head and told myself, "I know what I'm doing, I've got this." Then I'd be freaking the absolute holy fuck out with self-doubt, thinking that I can't do this, that even if I get the job I'll only make a fool of myself, that I'll be forced to throw myself on a sword after my colossal failure. Once again, not this time. Just, "I've got this." Worst of all, these self-doubts and anxiety attacks would have possibly lead to some form of self-sabotage. I'll even admit I fleetingly had the thought: "maybe I should just turn the job down if they offer it to me." I chased that one away fast.
The in-person interview was today. It was the best in-person interview I've ever had. I had an answer for every question. My experience impressed them, and it seemed to me that more than anything they wanted someone with my kind of experience to come in and do exactly what I know can do-- and I do mean know, not just a case of telling myself it'll be ok this time. My presentation went well-- everyone laughed at the right times and one of the professors even said I taught him a new trick with the databases. I made what was, for me, an admirable attempt to mix in with the conversation and be part of the group. I asked a lot of questions that they seemed to think were good questions. The event was planned for three hours, though it was said that it would likely not go that long. However, it nearly did, lasting 2 hours and 45 minutes.
So what I'm saying is, I brought my A game.
Interviews are like golf. There's no defense. Until I see the leaderboard, I have no way of knowing how the others are even doing. I can't control for how well anyone else did, so I can't say I think it was a slam dunk or anything. I may have just had my best in-person interview, and maybe the person before me had their best, and their best was a little better. I don't know. What I do know is that I stepped up to the tee and made solid contact with the ball. And now I kind of feel like I can golf.
I'd been telling myself, in the spirit of staying positive, that this interview would be a good thing no matter what. It showed me that if I cast my line, it's at least possible I'll get a nibble. And this happened with one of the first two jobs I applied for after forcing myself to get back into the game. Even if I had blown the interview, I would look at this as a positive (since, you know, I literally can't complain).
But I didn't blow the interview. I hit the fucking golf ball. So now the positive is that, again, I know I can do this. I know that I can be lucky enough to get an interview, and then actually have a good interview. Which means I can get a job in this field, with the right amount of luck. That's my downside right now.
The upside.... maybe I'll actually get this one.
The location and the hours look wonderful. I'd only be an hour away from my current home so I wouldn't have to never see my friends again. I'd only have to work half-time in the Summer. The city seems... not overly exciting, but most of my entertainment is indoors anyway. The other people there seemed pleasant. As long as that whole "having to throw myself on a samurai sword" thing doesn't happen, I'm thinking this would work for me,
So... here's hoping.
I Recently mentioned that I had applied for two jobs. In that post I was unusually positive, because I'm giving up negativity for lent. Lent is not over, so this is going to be another unusually positive post. I'm actually rather reluctant to make posts like this, because I'm really messing with the formula here. If anyone comes here, it is not for positive vibes. In fact, after all these years I've definitely frightened away anybody who doesn't have the patience to commiserate with a miserable sad sack. If you're here, it's likely because of, not in spite of, the fact that I am a gigantic bummer.
So... my apologies to those who get a kick out of me being wretched. But the good news is that I think this shift in attitude has been good for me. I'm not wallowing in a pit of despair, for one. For another thing, well......
I got an interview for one of those jobs I applied for. First a phone interview, and then an in-person interview.
Now, I'm not saying this happened because of the power of positive thinking or any such nonsense. But not being able to crawl into negativity has definitely made the experience much easier.
Typically I would have spent the entire time leading up to the interview freaking the absolute holy fuck out and generally having anxiety attacks. Instead, I pushed those thoughts out of my head and told myself, "I know what I'm doing, I've got this." Then I'd be freaking the absolute holy fuck out with self-doubt, thinking that I can't do this, that even if I get the job I'll only make a fool of myself, that I'll be forced to throw myself on a sword after my colossal failure. Once again, not this time. Just, "I've got this." Worst of all, these self-doubts and anxiety attacks would have possibly lead to some form of self-sabotage. I'll even admit I fleetingly had the thought: "maybe I should just turn the job down if they offer it to me." I chased that one away fast.
The in-person interview was today. It was the best in-person interview I've ever had. I had an answer for every question. My experience impressed them, and it seemed to me that more than anything they wanted someone with my kind of experience to come in and do exactly what I know can do-- and I do mean know, not just a case of telling myself it'll be ok this time. My presentation went well-- everyone laughed at the right times and one of the professors even said I taught him a new trick with the databases. I made what was, for me, an admirable attempt to mix in with the conversation and be part of the group. I asked a lot of questions that they seemed to think were good questions. The event was planned for three hours, though it was said that it would likely not go that long. However, it nearly did, lasting 2 hours and 45 minutes.
So what I'm saying is, I brought my A game.
Interviews are like golf. There's no defense. Until I see the leaderboard, I have no way of knowing how the others are even doing. I can't control for how well anyone else did, so I can't say I think it was a slam dunk or anything. I may have just had my best in-person interview, and maybe the person before me had their best, and their best was a little better. I don't know. What I do know is that I stepped up to the tee and made solid contact with the ball. And now I kind of feel like I can golf.
I'd been telling myself, in the spirit of staying positive, that this interview would be a good thing no matter what. It showed me that if I cast my line, it's at least possible I'll get a nibble. And this happened with one of the first two jobs I applied for after forcing myself to get back into the game. Even if I had blown the interview, I would look at this as a positive (since, you know, I literally can't complain).
But I didn't blow the interview. I hit the fucking golf ball. So now the positive is that, again, I know I can do this. I know that I can be lucky enough to get an interview, and then actually have a good interview. Which means I can get a job in this field, with the right amount of luck. That's my downside right now.
The upside.... maybe I'll actually get this one.
The location and the hours look wonderful. I'd only be an hour away from my current home so I wouldn't have to never see my friends again. I'd only have to work half-time in the Summer. The city seems... not overly exciting, but most of my entertainment is indoors anyway. The other people there seemed pleasant. As long as that whole "having to throw myself on a samurai sword" thing doesn't happen, I'm thinking this would work for me,
So... here's hoping.
Friday, February 19, 2016
To win big just once.
About a month ago, powerball fever swept the nation. All over the country, people said: "statistics be damned," and purchased a ticket to get in on the action. I suspect many of them were purchasing a ticket not to win, but to dream. They knew damn well there was no real possibility that they'd win this life-changing money, but for a week or two, they got to window-shop online for all the big-ticket items they'd buy, got to imagine their dream homes, got to daydream about paying off their debts and giving their nieces and nephews a chance to go to college.
After a long while of being unable to motivate myself to look for a job (and who wouldn't get burned out after 8 years of failure?), I've-- at least for the time being-- pulled myself out of the funk long enough to apply for two jobs. In doing so, I rediscovered something I had completely forgotten about. The powerball effect.
I know that the odds of landing any particular librarian job are near as likely as winning the powerball for me. But still, I can dream. Ever since applying for those jobs, I've taken to imagining what this life-changing windfall would be like. I think about going home after a day's work to a small but nice apartment. I open the fridge-- stocked with nothing but foods I like-- and prepare a nice but relatively fuss-free meal. While waiting for it to cook, I walk to my absinthe fountain-- something I've always wanted but have no room for without a place of my own-- and slowly drip myself a glass of absinthe to unwind from my day. I eat, drink, and enjoy what's left of my day while looking forward to the weekend when I'll have time to see my friends.
I even began window-shopping for apartments. I looked online at pictures of one-bedroom places with reasonable rent, and imagined living in that space, imagined where my things would go, imagined meeting with the apartment manager, seeing the places in person, and trying to figure out if there are children in the apartments, since directly asking is illegal for some asinine reason (I'm not allowed to value quiet and sleep?).
I think about some friends coming up to my new place, bringing board games and being supplied with generous portions of wine, scotch, or absinthe, as desired, along with a home-cooked meal. For once, my friends can come to me, and not always vice-versa.
Some people buy their dreams with a few dollars. I buy mine with the time it takes to fill out an application and craft a cover letter. I think my way is harder, and for a smaller dream, no less. But I'm not here to complain about that. Also, I would typically at this point say something about how my dream will go up in a puff of nothing just as easily as all those powerball players. I would talk about that crushing moment where it's all hopeless again, at least until I can buy the next dream. But I'm not going to do that this time, because I'm trying to give up my default negativity for lent. So instead I'll say, maybe it will be this time. Or the next. And the take away from this for me is that, despite the likelihood of rejection, there is real value in my trying. I spent so much time curled up in a pit of despair that I'd forgotten what it's like to lift my head and at least look up at the sky above. Maybe, knowing this, I'll be able to convince myself to keep trying.
I only need to win big just once.
After a long while of being unable to motivate myself to look for a job (and who wouldn't get burned out after 8 years of failure?), I've-- at least for the time being-- pulled myself out of the funk long enough to apply for two jobs. In doing so, I rediscovered something I had completely forgotten about. The powerball effect.
I know that the odds of landing any particular librarian job are near as likely as winning the powerball for me. But still, I can dream. Ever since applying for those jobs, I've taken to imagining what this life-changing windfall would be like. I think about going home after a day's work to a small but nice apartment. I open the fridge-- stocked with nothing but foods I like-- and prepare a nice but relatively fuss-free meal. While waiting for it to cook, I walk to my absinthe fountain-- something I've always wanted but have no room for without a place of my own-- and slowly drip myself a glass of absinthe to unwind from my day. I eat, drink, and enjoy what's left of my day while looking forward to the weekend when I'll have time to see my friends.
I even began window-shopping for apartments. I looked online at pictures of one-bedroom places with reasonable rent, and imagined living in that space, imagined where my things would go, imagined meeting with the apartment manager, seeing the places in person, and trying to figure out if there are children in the apartments, since directly asking is illegal for some asinine reason (I'm not allowed to value quiet and sleep?).
I think about some friends coming up to my new place, bringing board games and being supplied with generous portions of wine, scotch, or absinthe, as desired, along with a home-cooked meal. For once, my friends can come to me, and not always vice-versa.
Some people buy their dreams with a few dollars. I buy mine with the time it takes to fill out an application and craft a cover letter. I think my way is harder, and for a smaller dream, no less. But I'm not here to complain about that. Also, I would typically at this point say something about how my dream will go up in a puff of nothing just as easily as all those powerball players. I would talk about that crushing moment where it's all hopeless again, at least until I can buy the next dream. But I'm not going to do that this time, because I'm trying to give up my default negativity for lent. So instead I'll say, maybe it will be this time. Or the next. And the take away from this for me is that, despite the likelihood of rejection, there is real value in my trying. I spent so much time curled up in a pit of despair that I'd forgotten what it's like to lift my head and at least look up at the sky above. Maybe, knowing this, I'll be able to convince myself to keep trying.
I only need to win big just once.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
This library-land is made for you and...........
I probably said at one point that this blog would still be active, and I didn't want it to become one of those blogs to update every six months just to say "sorry I'm not updating, but I promise I'll start again soon!" only to go silent for another six months, and repeat. Did I ever actually say that though, or did I just think it? Either way, I was hoping for that not to be the case with my blog, and in my defense I meant it at the time. The follow-through has left something to be desired.
Anyway, I'm not going to make excuses. I'm also not going to promise to write more from now on. The reason I haven't been writing all this time is, frankly, I feel defeated. I've just come to accept that this will be my life, and all I'm doing is wasting my time when I try to find full time work.
Every now and then I'll see some fresh-faced fuck (sorry, but allow me to be bitter. I've earned it) complain about how it took them a whole six months to get a job out of grad school, and I'll think my 6+ years of teaching info lit should damn well count for something and I should be able to get a job within just a few months too. And then I'll remember how utterly devoid of hope the last six years have been, and just...................
How can I not give up? Clearly I lack something. I'm always assured that I'm a fine candidate, but, "there were just so many applicants, is all. Sorry about your damn luck." But can it really just be my damn luck when people are getting jobs so soon these days and I still can't?
I've been worn down. I've lost the will to fight. I've even lost the will to fight back.
I don't remember the last time I looked at the want ads. Maybe October? November? It has been a while. Even when you're starving, there are only so many times you can open a pantry that you know for a fact to be empty. That's exactly what it feels like I'm doing when I look at the want ads these days. After opening that pantry door so many times, I've just learned that it's empty and there's no sense in opening it as if I expect a jar of peanut butter to have spontaneously appeared.
So that's why I haven't been writing. My motivation to look for work and any feeling of connection I have to this field is slipping more and more with each passing year. I'm telling myself I'll write more, just as I'll look at the want ads more. I'm not going to make any promises, though.
I wish I could just forget it all. Be done with it. I have a car that runs and I have a box of Woody Guthrie albums. What else would I even need, if only I didn't need to worry about money for food and gas and student loans and another car for the day the one I have doesn't run any longer? If it weren't for those needs, I'd say fuck it, get in my car, and spend a few years exploring that ribbon of highway I've been hearing about.
I want to see the desert. I'm sure there's more for me out there than I've come to find in library-land.
Anyway, I'm not going to make excuses. I'm also not going to promise to write more from now on. The reason I haven't been writing all this time is, frankly, I feel defeated. I've just come to accept that this will be my life, and all I'm doing is wasting my time when I try to find full time work.
Every now and then I'll see some fresh-faced fuck (sorry, but allow me to be bitter. I've earned it) complain about how it took them a whole six months to get a job out of grad school, and I'll think my 6+ years of teaching info lit should damn well count for something and I should be able to get a job within just a few months too. And then I'll remember how utterly devoid of hope the last six years have been, and just...................
How can I not give up? Clearly I lack something. I'm always assured that I'm a fine candidate, but, "there were just so many applicants, is all. Sorry about your damn luck." But can it really just be my damn luck when people are getting jobs so soon these days and I still can't?
I've been worn down. I've lost the will to fight. I've even lost the will to fight back.
I don't remember the last time I looked at the want ads. Maybe October? November? It has been a while. Even when you're starving, there are only so many times you can open a pantry that you know for a fact to be empty. That's exactly what it feels like I'm doing when I look at the want ads these days. After opening that pantry door so many times, I've just learned that it's empty and there's no sense in opening it as if I expect a jar of peanut butter to have spontaneously appeared.
So that's why I haven't been writing. My motivation to look for work and any feeling of connection I have to this field is slipping more and more with each passing year. I'm telling myself I'll write more, just as I'll look at the want ads more. I'm not going to make any promises, though.
I wish I could just forget it all. Be done with it. I have a car that runs and I have a box of Woody Guthrie albums. What else would I even need, if only I didn't need to worry about money for food and gas and student loans and another car for the day the one I have doesn't run any longer? If it weren't for those needs, I'd say fuck it, get in my car, and spend a few years exploring that ribbon of highway I've been hearing about.
I want to see the desert. I'm sure there's more for me out there than I've come to find in library-land.
Friday, February 6, 2015
We just got no letters, I wonder who they're from.
It has been an especially long time since I’ve gotten a letter of rejection. Part of the problem is, of course, that I’m applying to fewer jobs these days. The truth is, there have been far fewer jobs to apply to lately. I don’t know exactly the cause, but it seems that there are far fewer jobs being advertised this year than there have been in the last two years, and most of my time job hunting lately is spent skimming a short list of job ads while thinking: "nope, nope, nope, I don't even know what that is, nope, and that's it, let's see how it goes next week." But part of the problem is also that sometimes you just don’t get a rejection letter. Sometimes you get a rejection email, and sometimes you get nothing at all.
Reading comments from other job seekers, I’m under the impression that a lot of us would very much appreciate being told when we weren’t selected for the job. Maybe I’m still younger than some of them, but I honestly can’t remember a time when it was commonplace to receive any kind of notification. I once applied to a job outside of the field, and the interviewer assured me unsolicited that they do call people to let them know if they were selected or not. They never called me. I learned after that that I should neither expect notification nor bother trying to obtain assurances that I’ll get any.
But really, of all of the complaints that us job seekers should have—the very shallow job pool (more of a job puddle, really), the mystery salaries, the low salaries—it seems odd to pick on notifications. Maybe this is the best we feel we can do? That was can never expect anything else to improve, but maybe if we raise our voices enough, more places will send out a nice little form letter or email? Maybe even with a real signature on the bottom if we’re extra blessed? I’m sorry, but with so many legitimate issues that exist when job hunting, it seems like nit-picking to bring this one up. You know why I don’t care if I get notified? Because if they never give me any kind of reply, that’s my answer. I figured it out all by myself. Actually, it somewhat annoys me to receive a notification of fuck off because it often happens 3-4 months after I apply for a job. Why even bother? Thanks guys, but I worked out that you didn't think I'd work out. You've given me no new information.
But I have noticed the lack of paper letters in just the past year. As I write this on Feb 2015, the last paper notification of what a loser I am came in on June 2014 (thanks, Santa Fe! I'm sorry I won't try your chili but I'm glad I won't encounter your scorpions). And I know that paper notification letter had been a thing even as recently as a couple of years ago, and I know that because I have a stack of them.
I’ve saved every single one of them since I began job hunting in 2008.
I’m not sure what my intentions were, exactly. Maybe I thought that when I got a job, I could look over every rejection letter and think: “you didn’t pick me, but I found someone who would.” Maybe I thought that one day when my niece or nephew is looking for a job and having a hard time, I’d be able to pull my rejection letters out of my filing cabinet and show them that people often don’t succeed their first try, but if they hang in there, good things will happen. Maybe I wanted to burn them all at once in some gleeful celebration. Maybe I wanted something to glare at when I drink (though my MLIS is filling that role nicely). I don’t know what I was thinking, but the point is I kept them, so I still have them, so I know they used to be a thing people sometimes received by mail.
And now it seems even more uncommon to receive them by mail than it was before. This is, of course, only my experience and personal experience counts for nothing. But since my experience is the one I’m writing about, here it is. My thoughts on saving rejection letters suffer the same problem as my thought to pursue a career in libraries: it was a nice thought, but ultimately unworkable.
Reading comments from other job seekers, I’m under the impression that a lot of us would very much appreciate being told when we weren’t selected for the job. Maybe I’m still younger than some of them, but I honestly can’t remember a time when it was commonplace to receive any kind of notification. I once applied to a job outside of the field, and the interviewer assured me unsolicited that they do call people to let them know if they were selected or not. They never called me. I learned after that that I should neither expect notification nor bother trying to obtain assurances that I’ll get any.
But really, of all of the complaints that us job seekers should have—the very shallow job pool (more of a job puddle, really), the mystery salaries, the low salaries—it seems odd to pick on notifications. Maybe this is the best we feel we can do? That was can never expect anything else to improve, but maybe if we raise our voices enough, more places will send out a nice little form letter or email? Maybe even with a real signature on the bottom if we’re extra blessed? I’m sorry, but with so many legitimate issues that exist when job hunting, it seems like nit-picking to bring this one up. You know why I don’t care if I get notified? Because if they never give me any kind of reply, that’s my answer. I figured it out all by myself. Actually, it somewhat annoys me to receive a notification of fuck off because it often happens 3-4 months after I apply for a job. Why even bother? Thanks guys, but I worked out that you didn't think I'd work out. You've given me no new information.
But I have noticed the lack of paper letters in just the past year. As I write this on Feb 2015, the last paper notification of what a loser I am came in on June 2014 (thanks, Santa Fe! I'm sorry I won't try your chili but I'm glad I won't encounter your scorpions). And I know that paper notification letter had been a thing even as recently as a couple of years ago, and I know that because I have a stack of them.
I’ve saved every single one of them since I began job hunting in 2008.
I’m not sure what my intentions were, exactly. Maybe I thought that when I got a job, I could look over every rejection letter and think: “you didn’t pick me, but I found someone who would.” Maybe I thought that one day when my niece or nephew is looking for a job and having a hard time, I’d be able to pull my rejection letters out of my filing cabinet and show them that people often don’t succeed their first try, but if they hang in there, good things will happen. Maybe I wanted to burn them all at once in some gleeful celebration. Maybe I wanted something to glare at when I drink (though my MLIS is filling that role nicely). I don’t know what I was thinking, but the point is I kept them, so I still have them, so I know they used to be a thing people sometimes received by mail.
And now it seems even more uncommon to receive them by mail than it was before. This is, of course, only my experience and personal experience counts for nothing. But since my experience is the one I’m writing about, here it is. My thoughts on saving rejection letters suffer the same problem as my thought to pursue a career in libraries: it was a nice thought, but ultimately unworkable.
Monday, December 29, 2014
So this is the new year. And I don't feel any different
2014 is sputtering out its last gasps. By the time anyone sees this, it will likely be 2015. Another year ticks by with nothing to show for it but lack of opportunity and failure for the very few opportunities I did have.
The end of the year is doubly a symbol of failure for me, because it's not only the end of a calendar year, but the end of another year of my life. I was born on December 28th, 32 years ago now. As another year passes by for the earth, so too does a year of my life go by in almost perfect unison. So now, as I type this out two days after my birthday and two days until the new year, I can say that both of these cycles have been completed once again without me seeming to be even one step closer to being anything, anywhere, to anybody.
I've mentioned before that I'm a failure, and as much as I try to move forward, the light never changes green for me. Year after year, I'm seeing red. Farewell 2014, another pointless waste of a year being shaved from my life with nothing to show for it.
As a point of habit, I've never celebrated New Year's eve. For one thing, I don't have the kind of social circle that gets me invited to parties. Big shock, right? And for another, I've always resented holidays that are used as an excuse to drink. I'm a fucking adult, even if I don't live like one, and I don't need someone to tell me when is a socially acceptable day to drink if I want to. So while everyone is out drinking and making out with their significant others (or closest strangers) while listening to a song by a poet they all REALLY ought to learn more about (fact: Robert Burns is better than you), I will be here in my basement, playing video games, and probably not noticing when the clock spins to midnight.
It's lucky that I've never felt an urge to celebrate the new year. Because if I ever had, I sure as hell wouldn't want to now.
I started this blog as a 29 year old living in the basement of his parents, and now I'm a 32 year old living in the basement of his parents. Not a 32 year old who dropped out of high school and has spent the last 17 years doing drugs, but a 32 year old who spent until 26 getting an education, getting a Master's degree, and then finding out what was supposed to be a practical, employable Master's degree wouldn't even make good kindling. And this basement is fucking cold.
32 is the year that you're officially old enough that it's hard to remember your age. 30 is easy because it's the big 3-0. 31 is easy because "holy fuck, I've gone a year past the big 3-0 and I still don't have my life together! 32 is when you stop counting because it's all just too God damned depressing.
A benign year for me. A malignant year for the earth. Progress happening for neither of us as we race to see who passes away first while looking back on what we've done to confirm that it was all a huge mistake.
The end of the year is doubly a symbol of failure for me, because it's not only the end of a calendar year, but the end of another year of my life. I was born on December 28th, 32 years ago now. As another year passes by for the earth, so too does a year of my life go by in almost perfect unison. So now, as I type this out two days after my birthday and two days until the new year, I can say that both of these cycles have been completed once again without me seeming to be even one step closer to being anything, anywhere, to anybody.
I've mentioned before that I'm a failure, and as much as I try to move forward, the light never changes green for me. Year after year, I'm seeing red. Farewell 2014, another pointless waste of a year being shaved from my life with nothing to show for it.
As a point of habit, I've never celebrated New Year's eve. For one thing, I don't have the kind of social circle that gets me invited to parties. Big shock, right? And for another, I've always resented holidays that are used as an excuse to drink. I'm a fucking adult, even if I don't live like one, and I don't need someone to tell me when is a socially acceptable day to drink if I want to. So while everyone is out drinking and making out with their significant others (or closest strangers) while listening to a song by a poet they all REALLY ought to learn more about (fact: Robert Burns is better than you), I will be here in my basement, playing video games, and probably not noticing when the clock spins to midnight.
It's lucky that I've never felt an urge to celebrate the new year. Because if I ever had, I sure as hell wouldn't want to now.
I started this blog as a 29 year old living in the basement of his parents, and now I'm a 32 year old living in the basement of his parents. Not a 32 year old who dropped out of high school and has spent the last 17 years doing drugs, but a 32 year old who spent until 26 getting an education, getting a Master's degree, and then finding out what was supposed to be a practical, employable Master's degree wouldn't even make good kindling. And this basement is fucking cold.
32 is the year that you're officially old enough that it's hard to remember your age. 30 is easy because it's the big 3-0. 31 is easy because "holy fuck, I've gone a year past the big 3-0 and I still don't have my life together! 32 is when you stop counting because it's all just too God damned depressing.
A benign year for me. A malignant year for the earth. Progress happening for neither of us as we race to see who passes away first while looking back on what we've done to confirm that it was all a huge mistake.
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