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Perhaps this should go in the Head Shop, but it begins with personal guff so here we are. I am currently looking for a job. A fulltime, possibly administrative or whatever comes along job -- nice if it was doing something I'm really good at like editing or media stuff, but okay if it's not. Also, I now have a really good reason to get a 'proper job' -- not just to save money for my own purposes, but I'm probably moving in with the current squeeze (the new squeeze! the very lovely new squeeze) and so will need to pay far more rent for a lovenest of the appropriate size.
So, I've spent the last six weeks applying. With no luck. Interviews, but no callback. Sometimes not even an acknowledgement that they got my application. Artificial exchanges with temping agencies, girls on phones who don't care who you are and are not nice, lists of imaginary desirable attributes like 'self-starter', 'team player', 'adventurous'. It's beginning to wear me down, to the extent that getting a knockback can throw me into deep depression and crying fits for a weekend (this weekend).
What, precisely, is wearing me down? First of all a sound knowledge of the global labour market and how relatively employable I am: qualified, experienced, presentable, subcultural capital, white, eddicated, good phone voice et cetera. (Gender shit notwithstanding. Which is testing the substantiveness of various employers' equal opportunity policies, I suspect.) Second of all, it's this thing, right? Applying for a job means thinking of it in attractive terms, mobilising a certain desire for employment, talking it up -- because you have to want something in order to get it, I feel, and this always goes down well in interviews. And then when you don't get the job, you are left wanting something you couldn't have. At the same time, I know damn well that the minute I do get work, I'll be cursing how little free time I have, getting up early, and two weeks into fulltime paid work I will be coming home every night needing a glass of wine and to black out in front of 'Sex and the City', a show I despise.
I work very hard on various other unpaid projects, some of which are turning out well. I am currently writing productively. So my self-esteem doesn't generally depend on being employed or doing 'vocational' stuff for money -- I'm a writer, writers get paid little, it's for love. This is fine. But the self-esteem is really beginning to wear, making it more difficult to be happy/bouncy/deal with living, and I fear I am headed down a nasty spiral of depression. For what seems like a totally stupid, microfascistic, capital-shoved-down-my-throat kind of way. In a way that suggests I am lazy, slack, stupid, and any number of negative things. Which I most emphatically know that I am not.
Advice? Suggestions? Common experiences? Sophisticated analysis of the labour market, anyone? Bitching about fulltime work, anyone? A glass of cheap port? |
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