So, I’m sad. And I’m
clearly bitter. Not exactly the most attractive of combinations… At least if
this was the mid 90´s and I could sing I’d be able to carve out a wildly
successful career as yet another angry young woman with a guitar. Oops, singer-songwriter, I meant. But this
being early 21st century and me being completely devoid of any
discernible musical talent (and I mean it: my neighbour has actually asked me
not to sing in the shower. Repeatedly. ) I also find myself out of job. And
broke.
Bitter, sad,
unemployed and broke. Now, THAT’S attractive. No wonder I’m still left on the
shelf- even I wouldn’t want to date me!
Growing up I wanted to become a choreographer (Remember, this was the 80's and Paula Abdul was one of the coolest things out there). The fact that I or any of the nursery teachers couldn't even pronounce the word was irrelevant. I also wanted to marry Richard Dean Anderson. (Again, this was the 80's and MacGyver was one of the coolest things out there...)
However,back in university I ended up studying all those dreadfully frivolous humanitarian subjects that the Tories
(that’s English Conservative Party for all non-English readers) find so
abhorrent . Eventually I even graduated, with student loans equivalent to the GNP of a small African country. Against all odds I even found a job. A permanent
one. With a couple of promotions thrown in. And a good paycheck. And what did I
do, in the middle of the global recession? I quit my job after being offered a
stint in the Middle East saving the world. ( I
did tell you: frivolous humanitarian. Absolutely
abhorrent.)
In hindsight I might
have wanted to pay attention to a couple of things. When your friends (who
actually studied something useful AND subscribe to Financial Times’ podcasts)
tell you economical recession is THE worst time in the world to quit a job,
there’s a chance you should listen to them. Another is that when your income is
severely cut back, so should be your spending. Ahh. Failed both. Miserably.
Budget management,
schmudget scmanagement- but I have managed to amass a collection of accessories
that both my 8-year-old niece and 30-something girlfriends find irresistible
and love to play with. Gorgeous shoes with no-one to walk all over in… Beautiful
bags with nowhere to take them to…
Unfortunately turned
out that that recession isn’t like Paris Hilton’s IQ or a free lunch- it
actually exists. And continues. And since the return from the Middle
East (which still remains largely unsaved as any news will tell
you…) I’ve been reduced to doing a string of unpaid internships, with the noble
aim of getting my well-heeled, snake-skinned foot in the door. And at this
point I mean any door. So far no such
luck.
Now, job hunting is
hard, even without a broken heart that tells you to stay in bed willing his
e-mail to appear in your inbox and convincing you that if only you stay in bed
long enough, he’s going to show up at your doorstep, having finally realized
that you truly are his first, his last, his everything (Yes, that broken heart
also tells you to listen to Barry White- lots of it.) Job hunting is also not
made any easier by my resumé with all its frivolousities. Somehow I’m capable
of representing my country in a meeting with another country’s ministry of
foreign affairs, trying to convince them to partner with mine in a project
aiming at saving their nature, yet I’m not even considered for jobs where main
duties revolve around answering phones? I don’t get it. I can write stories
that get picked up by CNN but nobody trusts me to be able to write an e-mail? I
can write! In 5 languages! With my eyes closed!
I’m trying to remain
hopeful (well, not really, but nobody wants to read pessimistic posts, right?)
but it’s hard when rejections keep coming like Biblical plagues. It’s so bloody
hard to keep believing in yourself and what you have to offer when your abilities
are only really appreciated and needed when nobody needs to pay you for them.
Unpaid internships- right there with the locusts, I’ll tell you…
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