February 1, 1999
Battle Fatigue

I'm back in The Land of the Living ... if not in The Land of the Employed.

I've still got a maddening, itchy cough, and I'm nowhere near 100% on The Oomph Meter  --  a simple drive around the island on Saturday wore me out  --  but a weekend of nerdy domestic bliss and Japanese-language TV ("Battle Iwashi!") helped restore me. Now I'm ready to jump right back into the job-hunting fray.

I called Mr. Interviewer Person on Friday, as promised, to check on the status of my application. It had been a week since I'd interviewed with the company, and I figured it was time to remind them of my fabulous qualifications and immediate availability and bottomless interest in the position and stuff. 

So I took a deep cleansing breath ... and called.

After several interminable minutes of canned hellmuzak, I was informed that Mr. Interviewer Person  --  aka, "The Decision Maker"  --  was out of the office and wouldn't be returning until sometime this week. When I asked if a hiring decision would be made soon (like before the end of mankind as we know it, perhaps?), I was told that it had been put on hold until he returns. Sigh. I politely left my name and phone number, and said that if I didn't hear from them soon (like before the end of mankind as we know it, perhaps?), I would check back again.

And that was that. For now.

Am I bummed? Yes and no. I've made no secret of the fact that this is one job I would have really liked to get. Logistically, it would have been a dream: one bus, ten minute commute, no transferring. Nice office. Decent salary. Groovy elevator. (And absolutely no dog shit involved: always a plus.) I would still be pathetically grateful and thrilled if they called to offer the position. I wouldn't even gripe  --  much  --  about the fact that they left the applicants hanging for two successive weekends.

And I must admit feeling the tiniest tickle of battle fatigue this morning, as I combed through the classifieds and began firing off the résumé again.

But it's almost impossible for me not to feel optimistic about the future, these days.

I live with the world's most optimistic human being, for one thing. "Solutions!" he's always saying to me. "We don't focus on problems ... we focus on solutions!"  (And then he takes the fork out of my hand and unplugs the toaster and turns it upside down, and my bagel plops right out onto the counter.)  It's sorta like waking up next to your very own personal Motivational Speaker ... except that he isn't pointing a laser pen at your forehead. 

And he doesn't charge $389 per session.

And there's the fact that I'm sober. I have a new foundation of self-esteem ("If I can do this, I can do anything") and vision ("I have a goal, and here's what I need to do to achieve it") that had been missing for years. I'm better-equipped to handle something as potentially hellish as job-hunting than I might have been otherwise. My universe isn't going to collapse if I don't get this job. (My checking account might. But my universe won't.)

So ... I'll keep plugging away at it.



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