Colorless Green Ideas Unintentionally Amusing In Person
Friday, July 11, 2003
T.H. called to get an update on the Potential New Job, left a message for the HR coordinator, and didn't get a call back. She is probably busy, or out today, or any number of things, but please! We can't make any plans, because we don't know what's going on, and I can't give my potential employer any information on if/when we might be moving, and this just sucks.
They will offer T.H. this job. They will offer T.H. this job. They will offer T.H. this job.
I know it's whiny—lots of folks are unemployed and have been for years, but this is important to T.H. and I’m sick sick sick of waiting to find out. It’s stressing me out, and T.H. actually had a minor panic-attack this morning, which he never does.
I swear to god, there should be a federally mandated 2-week limit from interview to notice to limit the psychological damage.
I realize that to some degree this is my own fault, but I am completely exhausted & in a terrible mood. If someone looks at me slantwise I'll probably either burst into tears or pick a fist-fight. I hate everything. I want to go home and go back to bed. I want something good to happen today to leaven the disgusting rotten mess that my life appears to be right now.
Once more, there is no identifiable exterior reason for this mood (other than the aforementioned lack of sleep). Except, you know, that everything is horrible. And I don’t have a dog or money or prospects, and this is not how life is supposed to be when you’re a grown-up. I watched John Hughes movies, and I know what life is supposed to be like when you’re cool and you’ve got it together. You get a multi-million-dollar book/movie/record contract, and the music swells, and everything just turns out all right, and no one comes in after the thrilling climax and says “We’re out of bread again, so there’s nothing for breakfast unless we go to the store tonight.” That never once happened in a John Hughes movie.
Maybe I’m not cool enough, or maybe the soundtrack to my life is on the fritz, or maybe it’s just temporary and I won’t feel this way tomorrow, but I think that it’s about time that whoever is doing the scriptwriting gets in touch with me. I have a lot of great ideas that would really improve the cinematic value of this film—better hair, effortless weight loss, and a wardrobe update would be a good start. I mean, it’s true that there’s nothing really tragic happening around here, but, as a movie, this is just not doing it for me. No action sequences or car chases or Really Touching Moments, just grocery shopping and paying the phone bill and feeding the cat. This movie sucks. Pretty in Pink is a lot better.
I’d forgotten (or blocked out) how demoralizing it is to just wait and wait and wait, without updates, or information, or any way of knowing if you’re getting the job you’ve tried so hard for. When I was waiting to hear about my current position, I know I became absolutely convinced at least 3 or 4 times that I was not going to get it, and that I was going to be stuck working in a bank for the rest of my life—and I had an inside contact for this job, so I actually could get updated information during the process. It’s much worse for T.H., who wants this job so fiercely that all of my relatives have commented on it at least 3 times (“He looks so excited!”), and, in fact, so fiercely that I wonder if he’s even aware of just how clearly he wants this to work out.
Plus, there are all the other “if”s hanging off this one, like my job here, and the job that I interviewed for there, and all of the practical details and side effects that are now on hold, waiting in limbo until we get some definite information and make some concrete decisions.
On the plus side, everyone has their fingers crossed and are rooting for this to work out. I’m tremendously grateful that my family and friends are so universally supportive, and that they all like Noel enough to cheer and hug and demand regular updates. Strangely (or maybe not) the fact that we have so many loving and supportive friends and family makes the prospect of moving far, far away less daunting—I supposed because I know that mere distance won’t change our relationships…
T.H. said they were “slimming”! (if you’re unsure, “Wow honey, those look really good! They’re slimming.” Is, in fact, The Correct Answer to “How do these look?”)
We hung out with lots of relatives, one of my uncles walked through a screen door and managed to biff another uncle on the head, and there was enough food for 400 people, and barbecuing, and going to the Outlet Mall, and the Wax Museum, and everyone said “congratulations” and “we’re crossing our fingers for you honey” at least 10 times each, and T.H. found three (three!) models of the Nautilus for a mere $5 apiece after specifically lamenting that he didn’t want to cannibalize the one he has for a project relating to the Potential New Job, and wishing that he had purchased two, and we all decided it was A Sign and that obviously the Career Gods want us to go live on the East Coast so that my uncles can come stay and walk through screen doors near the Atlantic Ocean rather than the Pacific.