treesick

job-hunting is probably the most imprisoning act i’ve ever partaken in. i’m hoping for an interview, but what am i going to say, really? and how do i explain my resume? “i usually work until it’s not fun anymore. then i quit and sit around for a week to a month practicing for karaoke and writing in my journal before looking for employment in a completely unrelated field. i hope you have a casual dress code.”

the last time i was job-hunting, the interview i went on before giving in to the siren call of the food service industry was horrifying. my interviewer actually said, “you’re kind of a free spirit, aren’t you?” to which i rolled my eyes. i can actually see the line in some interview etiquette book, forgotten on some library shelf; dusty, faded and clothbound. “one mustn’t roll one’s eyes at one’s hopefully future employer. ever, you fuckwit.”

so, yes. i’ve begun to forage for work. i brooded, i repined for several days, not precisely holed up in my hovel, but pretty damn near it, and i was reading random excerpts from sylvia plath’s journals and realized, “this bitch is dead. and you’re alive. you’re alive. you’re alive!” and i stormed out of the house and walked around touching all the trees until some guy started beckoning me over to his car, at which point i realized that four in the morning is a bad time to be out fondling greenery, got lost on my way home, and fell up the stairs to my front door.

it was, all in all, an anticlimactic revelation. but there are colors everywhere, and faces full of expressions i can never understand, and life, and living, and shawn and edith visiting in august.

i’m still sad, but i’m trying really hard not to sink down into this whole damned mess. so either i’m descending into dementia, or things are going to be fine. and while i kind of do just want to have a satisfyingly potent breakdown, it’s really not my style.