Sick Singleton. Fuuuuck everything except tea, blankets, and drugs.
This is why I hate people. I was unemployed for almost a year and not one germ found me. Working for a month, interacting with humanity — bam, plague.
If I die, tell that one guy that never sleeping with him is one of my only regrets. That, and the time I got bangs. So it’s a pretty big deal.
I got this email from a good friend shortly after my last post, and I’m sharing it here because I think it probably applies to a lot of other people:
“You are kicking adulthood’s ass. I know you don’t feel like it but you are. You were unemployed for a long time and you got through it beautifully. I know you’re still worried because the new job is so new and you’re still a little scared, but you’re going to be fine.
“You have also dealt with a lot of strange new romantic relationships without too much drama.
“You are stronger than you think. You are an amazing, kind, funny, and smart person. I know this last year or so has been awful, but you are showing it who’s boss.
“Keep on keepin’ on.”
I never did mention the good news: I’m no longer single AND unemployed. I’m working two jobs, actually, starting today.
And so begins the quest for random office sex, and the effort to alleviate some of the holiday-induced weirdness in my brain. Working 15-hour days should give me much less time to pout about being a tragic spinster, or to go adopt a Crazy Cat Lady Starter Set.
Friend: “He wants to date you. You like him, go!”
Me: “Nah, not yet. Not when I’m unemployed AND emotionally insane. I’m not cute enough to make that worthwhile for a guy. I know my place on the Hot/Crazy scale.”
I’d finally sorted through SOME of the shit rolling around in my head, at least enough to decide I want to continue living and working where I am (East Coast), rather than moving away and starting over completely.
So obviously I just scheduled a phone interview for a job in Orlando. Because why wouldn’t I?
Another unemployed friend and I discuss attending a staffing agency’s networking event:
Me: “Meh. I don’t know. Are you going? It probably can’t hurt, even if it just ends up being us going out to a bar.”
Him: “I’ll probably go. Free food and, worst-case scenario, you’ve spent an evening at a bar. You might even get laid.”
Me: “OK, I’m down. Let me know if you can’t make it. And I’ll need you to tell me what to wear that’s nice enough to get work, but sexy enough to get laid. Actually, if I could fuck a literary agent, that would be ideal.”
Let’s get me a sartorial mullet: business in the front, party in my pants!
This morning, I read an article about how crap-tastic my local job market is right now. Going on Month 4 of unemployment and borderline depression, I’m starting to think my BFF has the right idea looking for jobs out in Iowa. Forbes just named Des Moines the top job market in America. I have a college friend who lives out there who said if I seriously consider moving, he’d help me get set up. (And that’s not an offer of dick, he’d really actually help me.) But I don’t know…
I know Des Moines is a “city,” but it’s still Iowa. I’m comfortable admitting that I’m kind of an East Coast asshole. I’d definitely have to visit first, I can’t just fucking move to IOWA having never been there. I’m sure the corn-fed guys would dig me, but once they find out I won’t eat steak, I’ll probably get shunned. (“Shun the non-believer! Shuuuuuunnnnn!”)
Plus, between The Ex, my goddaughter, friends, and really the area itself, I feel a genuine connection to this place as Home. It’d be really hard to leave. (I understand that’s the point of moving to a new place and leaving everyone and everything behind — that it’s a Giant Life Change. But it’s only dramatic and poetic when you go to, like, Paris or Rome — some Eat Pray Love shit like that. Even California. Ain’t no one writing memoirs about Iowa. Hell, maybe I’d be the first! From Wawa to Iowa: My Journey of Self-Discovery. And Corn!)
Smug Singleton 