Desperately

Applying for jobs has to be one of the stranger processes we encounter in life.  Applications, résumés, and cover letters head out into cyberspace, or the mail, and we have little knowledge of how they are received, or if they are ever given anything more than a cursory glance before being tossed into the slush pile.  Regular followers of this blog will recall that finding a job in the years since I completed my master’s degree has been impossible.  The longer it takes, the more I grow to accept that I am simply never going to be employed in a library.  There are too many new graduates being turned out every semester, people with better connections or a deeper base of knowledge or a fresher understanding of the latest technologies.  From the beginning I was diverse in my applications, submitting my information to a variety of institutions, including but not limited to factories, hospitals, schools, and colleges.  It is interesting to note that my abilities to compute have never been put into use; I was even passed-over for data entry jobs.  It was in this jobless environment that I first put pen to paper and decided to write a novel.  I enjoy writing—creating alternate universes and in essence creating friends and family for myself provides a lot of happiness.  However, unless I sell a book to a screenwriter, I am not sure that it will be a quick ticket to riches.  I still have bills to pay, which is something that employers overlook during the interview process—a person may need the job more than they want it.  Life isn’t always about having fun; I was raised with the belief that adults had to work hard to earn a living.  I remain in arrested development—I cannot financially support myself, though I will admit to understanding the value of a dollar.  Frequent solitude has turned me from an introvert into a super-introvert.  I am less than forthcoming when people ask me questions, if for no reason other than I have been forced into an even deeper level of social awkwardness.  I recall an incident in graduate school in which I was supposed to be recognized at a ceremony, only to be forgotten and ignored.  This led me to further paranoia when it comes to sending emails—if I don’t receive a confirming correspondence, I figure my message was lost in cyberspace.  I ultimately received the recognition I had been promised albeit not at that ceremony.  I also have difficulty with long-term friendships.  As time passes, most friends fall away and forget about me.   The few strong ones I have cultivated live no closer to me than one hundred miles.  And if you do live closer, please let me know.  I’d like to see you.  I know I shouldn’t throw people under the bus, but I find myself in the company of people who are supposed to be friends but use me as an object of derision, the “point and laugh” person.  I’m not fond of that.  I crave genuine friendship and human connection.  Sharing jokes is one thing, but I don’t want to be the joke.  Once again, I have gotten off course.  I recently applied for a job that two years ago I never would have considered.  Not too many years ago I sat in on interviews, then later on performed the interviews and did the hiring myself.  I’m not sure how many people actually know that about me.  It was an interesting process, but I am unknowledgeable about how other companies and organizations do it.  I think, however, that it is time to start over and forget about my dream of working in a library, just the same as I tossed aside my dreams of being an architect, psychologist, and schoolteacher.  Some dreams are attainable. Some are not.