Colorless Green Ideas Unintentionally Amusing In Person
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
How can you tell if you’re really coming down with something (and can therefore justifiably leave work & go mope in the comfort of your own home) vs. just psyching yourself into feeling unwell so you can go home?
I think that it’s unfair that depression causes indefinable vague yukky-feeling-ness instead of something solid and defensible, like a 102-degree fever or projectile-vomiting. No one would complain at me for going home if I spewed used toast and jam on my monitor, but if I just mope around and leave early, I look like a slacker.
So the thing about this whole husband-looking-for-a-job-process that’s making me crazy—the thing that’s making me more crazy than usual, if you want to get all picky about it—is that there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
I can’t call people, or make them talk to him, or look at his portfolio, or urge them to give him a chance because he’s really great. I can’t do anything. It’s driving me up the wall, because we’re on a timeline here, and because I don’t want him to get stuck working at a call center or a gas station or something.
He’s very shy, and he’s not aggressive, and he has a lot of skills and talent, but so do a whole lot of other unemployed designers, and he’s not getting past the initial screenings because all the other unemployed designers are like “Look at me! I am great!” and he’s like “Hello, here is my very nice, sleek, you-have-to-be-paying-attention-to-design-principals-to-see-how-cool-in-an-understated-way-this-is-portfolio, thank you for your consideration and please feel free to call me” and of course no one does that, because there are 400 people applying for every single position, and he does not have a big neon arrow pointing at his head, so the other 399 people who are standing in the street screaming “I AM BRILLIANT!” are getting interviewed and hired, and he is just getting discouraged.
This is incredibly frustrating, and the fact that there’s nothing nothing nothing I can do to change or influence or alter the course of the job search makes me want to smash things and then fall down onto the floor and sob helplessly. And that won’t help anything, either.
I brought Asian Cole Slaw (the secret is the peanut butter in the dressing!) for a work potluck, and I am afraid it’s gone limp. I made the Asian Cole Slaw because the easiest way to get The Husband to eat vegetables it to cut ‘em up and put peanut sauce on them, so I’ve been collecting recipes.
I spend the weekend workingvolunteering working for free at the Museum of Horrors, painting and sawing and staple-gunning, and I am tired. It’s grey and rainy again today after being somewhat sunny over the weekend, and I am tired. The security of my debit card has been compromised (according to the letter I got from my credit union), and therefore I cannot use my debit card, and no one on the planet takes checks, so I am using my credit card, and I am tired. I am having oral surgery on Thursday and I am tired. My poor husband is now looking for Any Job (It Would Be Nice If It Was Design-or-Web-Oriented, But Anything Will Do) and I am tired.
It doesn’t matter if my Asian Cole Slaw has gone limp—I have enough limpness for both of us, and more.