On Account of Excessive Excitement

I got my 1,000,000th rejection email from one of the big, local insurance companies today. They really should have a giveaway associated with that, but seeing as they're mostly technically competitors, I can't see them going halfsies (halvsies?) on anything like that. The giveaway could be really exciting, like "Free Yugo with Your 1,000,000 Rejection!" or "Free Health Insurance for a Week with your One Millionth Rejection!" The alternative, of course, would be to just give me a fucking job, but whatever. Sweepstakes are apparently NOT FOR EVERYONE. ("Everyone" likely being all of us looking for jobs right now.)

As I have noted before, I worry my resume comes across a bit... scattered. That's not to say I'm not capable of and actually very good at (thankyouverymuch) everything on that little document, because frankly, I am, but I know that specialization is the name of the game these days.

So could someone explain to me why in the name of FUCK I have a liberal arts education? (Not to mention an MA that people glance at and have no idea what to do with.) Wasn't that supposed to be the launching pad for a well-rounded individual? Or at least someone who can form a complete thought about ... anything? Anything at all? Well, fuck it. I'm proud of my education. And I'm proud of my eclectic background.

So what if some insurance company (or any of them, really) doesn't want to hire me? My sister-in-law works for one and I swear to Dog she goes home every night and prays to get laid off. I keep telling myself that having the abilities to trim a goat's hoof and turn a phrase in the name of marketing is interesting. It shows gumption and curiosity and a breadth of experience most people don't have. Maybe I should add "jumped out of a plane that one time" to it. I could scare the pants right off of those insurance stiffs.

But the truth is, every rejection sucks. Every. Single. One. One of my closest friends has gumption and curiosity and breadth of experience -- and she's taking a career-making position in Kenya. I can't fathom the awesomeness of that. And I'm elated for her.

And I can't even describe how much of a foil that is to my own shortcomings. Her move isn't about me, it's about her doing good things in the world and killing it at work and being the amazing person that I love.

This blog, however, IS about me. So, there's that. And with that in mind, I've realized that with her news and well-earned successes, my job hunt, the rejections, my resentment toward my own situation... are starting to consume me. I don't just dislike the job I do, I actively hold back tears of rage at my desk and say silent prayers to a God I don't believe in that no one notices. And I can't tell anymore if it's frustration at my stunted search for a job or good, old-fashioned self loathing that brings the migraine boil of emotion repressed, but it comes.

Perhaps it's just all the excitement that I bring.

And since I've been listening to The Band compulsively lately, this seemed appropriate (even though I'm 99% sure it's a song about King Lear).