When you’re stressed out, there’s generally nothing worse than going to bed with a lot on your mind. You sleep terribly, with strange dreams of rodeo clowns mocking your failures -provided you can sleep in the first place.
I definitely tend to fall victim to stress-induced insomnia, and last night was fairly routine. I had a late meeting at school and we all decided to go out for drinks after to celebrate finishing our task. Plus, it’s always nice to blow off a little steam.
I got home just before midnight, only to check my mail and notice that I had received a dreaded thin envelope. Another job rejection. Though, at least this office was kind enough to let me know I had been crossed off the list. It’s marginally better than throwing my application out into the ether to never be heard from again.
It’s hard to unwind after a long day. It’s harder yet to turn my brain off after reading that tiny form letter. I can sit here and tell myself it’s for a job I didn’t really want and wasn’t that qualified for – both of which are true- but I can’t really find solace in that.
On one hand I wish I could be narrow and targeted and picky with my job search. On the other hand I’ve had to swallow the realities of the fact I need gainful employment regardless of personal cost. This might mean living somewhere undesirable. Or doing something less than ideal. So I can’t just sit here and comfort myself with the knowledge that I’m better off without a job practicing corporate litigation in Delaware.
Instead, as I laid down and turned out the lights my brain parsed the form rejection letter. Brief but polite. Definitely not the worst one I’ve gotten. Though I really do wish recruiters would come up with a better line than “we found your application very impressive but.”
Because that’s not even a good lie. That’s the HR equivalent of “it’s not you, it’s me. And when we entry level schmucks get those form letters we know damn well it was our fault we didn’t make it to the next round. Kimmy, who you are going to interview, not only is in the top 15% of the class, but she’s on moot court and clerked for that judge last year. Oh, and she has bar passage. Which basically translates to, we know we said entry-level but really we wanted someone who was a sure bet. No one wants to risk taking a virgin to the prom, right?
So, I consoled myself the only way I knew how. I fed myself cheese and said over and over “you didn’t want to move to Delaware anyway” and “you didn’t even remember applying to that firm.”
And then, I slept on it. I just really wish I could have less dreams involving rodeo clowns. Not only have I never actually been to a rodeo, but it’s really mean when they taunt me for being unable to rope a calf. What do they expect from a city girl?
Missing, Presumed Unemployed 