I find at the present moment that my life is full of nothing concrete but plans, plans, plans. Many creative projects swirl at my feet. Opportunities and avenues and ways to jump.
I love each and every one and don't know which to choose or where to put my energy.
As selfish as it sounds, I feel to some extent I must block my ears, hunch my shoulders down and choose the thing that will earn the callous, cold hard cash; I will not get to Greece, my loved and faraway dreamland, on the steam of half-hearted chances and the vapor of something-to-come.
I'm keeping all irons in the fire and stoking em' good. Number one lesson I have learned in this job-hunting, life-building game:
Only settle when you're getting paid and everything is stable. Don't count your chickens until such time as they hatch, grow up, leave home and have beards.
Too many times in the past I have missed lucrative or career-building opportunities by misjudging when to risk and when to play it safe. This time, I'll play it safe by not closing any doors or saying no too early.
And I will keep the whitewashed walls of Greece foremost in my mind.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Cheer Up, Emu Kid!
Today I finally caved to financial pressure and registered for Centrewank assistance.
It has been many years since I needed a hand up from Big Brother, yet here I am once more: two degrees, many zillions of dollars in education debt, and still unemployed. All despite best efforts to find work and be a Contributing Member of Society (TM).
I hate you right now, Newcastle. Why must you be a black hole for employment?
Life is lovely, but this whole no-job jazz is giving me the shits.
John has been sending me lots of freelance work requests that look interesting. I've been applying for boring reliable retail jobs but I will look at the freelance stuff on the morrow. I need something to cheer me up.
Thank god for husbands and roller derby and Black Books! They are the wardens of my sanity.
It has been many years since I needed a hand up from Big Brother, yet here I am once more: two degrees, many zillions of dollars in education debt, and still unemployed. All despite best efforts to find work and be a Contributing Member of Society (TM).
I hate you right now, Newcastle. Why must you be a black hole for employment?
Life is lovely, but this whole no-job jazz is giving me the shits.
John has been sending me lots of freelance work requests that look interesting. I've been applying for boring reliable retail jobs but I will look at the freelance stuff on the morrow. I need something to cheer me up.
Thank god for husbands and roller derby and Black Books! They are the wardens of my sanity.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Frustration Reigns Supreme
JOBS APPLIED FOR: 2
CUPS OF TEA: 2
QUOTE OF THE DAY: (In 'Proofs of God at Godless Geeks)
OPRAH'S ARGUMENT (I)
(1) The human spirit exists.
(2) Therefore, God exists.
(This website saved me from jumping off something high today).
Oh, friends. The job search continues but seems at an impasse.
What signifies such a standstill? Well, you could notice it by the red mist floating over my eyes, or the pick-axe in my hand aimed squarely at the computer monitor.
I've reached the point in my job hunt where the honeymoon phase of initial optimism is flagging and I'm now Quite Fucking Frustrated and Bordering On That Postal Thing.
It seems that the job pages are full of things I'm either over-qualified or under-qualified for. Is it snobbish that I don't want to scrub toilets when I spent almost $35,000 on my education? Is it vain that I don't want to scrape over-priced meals into a bin at a pretentious bistro because a rich sloth of a three year old refuses to eat that which his parents knew he wouldn't?
And yet there seems to be no middle ground, nothing in between that I can do and that isn't horrible. You know, like working in a bookshop or even a newsagent. Or looking after kids in vacation care. Anything, something. The other end of the spectrum involves skills and qualifications I don't have.
I can write and I'm good at it. I've worked as a writer and I've been good at it. But in Newcastle it seems, this is not what is wanted or needed.
Does this say something about our city and the intellectual life here? I'd like to think not. Yet it seems that getting paid for doing something below exec, and above dish-pig is just not on the cards.
The application process is maddening. I feel like I'm throwing stones out into a pond. But they don't make a ripple, ever. Or I throw a stone and look down and notice one of my fingers has been cut off. Something grandly metaphorical and maudlin like that.
It should be noted here that Woolworths and Big W? Most poorly designed 'careers' site ever. Oh and teh lulz at calling it a careers page in the first place. I'm suuuuure their checkout chicks want to be working there for the next ten years. Uh huh. PLEASE IF I GET A JOB THERE AND AM STILL THERE AT 30, PLZ TO BE KILLING ME.
At least Derby is still awesome, and the husband is being ftw. I'm cranky as hell in every other respect though. It doesn't help that it is Melbourne Crap day; day of wasting money and shouting drunkenly and boorishly at horses that deserve a better life. I need to watch some Ghost World and other hatey indie-kid slacker angst. Then I'll re-emerge in a better mood, I promise.
CUPS OF TEA: 2
QUOTE OF THE DAY: (In 'Proofs of God at Godless Geeks)
OPRAH'S ARGUMENT (I)
(1) The human spirit exists.
(2) Therefore, God exists.
(This website saved me from jumping off something high today).
Oh, friends. The job search continues but seems at an impasse.
What signifies such a standstill? Well, you could notice it by the red mist floating over my eyes, or the pick-axe in my hand aimed squarely at the computer monitor.
I've reached the point in my job hunt where the honeymoon phase of initial optimism is flagging and I'm now Quite Fucking Frustrated and Bordering On That Postal Thing.
It seems that the job pages are full of things I'm either over-qualified or under-qualified for. Is it snobbish that I don't want to scrub toilets when I spent almost $35,000 on my education? Is it vain that I don't want to scrape over-priced meals into a bin at a pretentious bistro because a rich sloth of a three year old refuses to eat that which his parents knew he wouldn't?
And yet there seems to be no middle ground, nothing in between that I can do and that isn't horrible. You know, like working in a bookshop or even a newsagent. Or looking after kids in vacation care. Anything, something. The other end of the spectrum involves skills and qualifications I don't have.
I can write and I'm good at it. I've worked as a writer and I've been good at it. But in Newcastle it seems, this is not what is wanted or needed.
Does this say something about our city and the intellectual life here? I'd like to think not. Yet it seems that getting paid for doing something below exec, and above dish-pig is just not on the cards.
The application process is maddening. I feel like I'm throwing stones out into a pond. But they don't make a ripple, ever. Or I throw a stone and look down and notice one of my fingers has been cut off. Something grandly metaphorical and maudlin like that.
It should be noted here that Woolworths and Big W? Most poorly designed 'careers' site ever. Oh and teh lulz at calling it a careers page in the first place. I'm suuuuure their checkout chicks want to be working there for the next ten years. Uh huh. PLEASE IF I GET A JOB THERE AND AM STILL THERE AT 30, PLZ TO BE KILLING ME.
At least Derby is still awesome, and the husband is being ftw. I'm cranky as hell in every other respect though. It doesn't help that it is Melbourne Crap day; day of wasting money and shouting drunkenly and boorishly at horses that deserve a better life. I need to watch some Ghost World and other hatey indie-kid slacker angst. Then I'll re-emerge in a better mood, I promise.
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