Maybe I’ll Get Seasonal Affective Disorder

As it happens, I’ve become relatively employed.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still scrambling for cash.  I’m working for free where it costs money to park… you do the math.

Oh no, I ask myself with grave concern, is my blog title now rendered inapplicable?

Well, I answer myself reasonably, perhaps, but I’m not changing it because then I would get fired, obviously, because that’s how things work, and then I would have to change it back.

Plus, I still don’t really feel employed.  I think that in order to really feel employed, you have to post something about the state and nature of your employment on Facebook, capped with a multitude of exclamation points and/or creatively hyphenated smiley faces, and fetch at least 16 likes.  I’m pretty sure.  (I’m also sure, despite what you may think, about my use of the word “fetch” in that sentence.)

Things happened very fast.  One day, I was sitting in my parents’ house in beautifully boring Newport Beach, counting down the hours (okay, days) until my next one-hour-long tutoring session [CHA-CHING], staring down Pebbles, our shamelessly black kitten, seriously considering the idea of blaming her for all my bad luck… and the next I am wiping raindrops off my glasses, wandering aimlessly around the streets of downtown Seattle, fearlessly fighting off bums and trying to come to terms with the fact that I just secured two, maybe three, jobs.

Clear skies are overrated
Clear skies are overrated

Maybe things are starting to work out.  Maybe whether or not things start to work out is actually, and entirely, under my own control.

Maybe I’ll get seasonal affective disorder.

Allow me to get preachy for just one moment: If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of this, here it is:  Sure, connections are everything.  Yes, networking is important.  Maybe it is all about who you know.  The economy is bad.  Yada yada.  But if you really want something, the only thing that can stop you is yourself.  It took me a year and half to realize this… but, thankfully, I finally did, and only a week or two later I have found myself living in an amazing city with an internship I could only have dreamed about.  Okay, that’s all.

So I flew home, packed in a day, and left early on Thursday morning… my dad’s birthday.  He pouted and moped and whined about my leaving.  I guess it was endearing, in an annoying sort of way.  You be the judge:

What did I buy you all those new golf clubs for?  You can’t golf in Seattle!! Who am I going to golf with?  Why can’t you get a job here?  You’re trying to get as far away from me as possible!!

At least I didn’t forget his birthday, like my sister did.  I can hardly imagine the earload of feebly-suppressed passive-aggressive whining she must have gotten over the phone the next day… well, actually, I can.

I pulled my blue Civic out of the driveway around 8:30am… and I couldn’t resist.  I played the song “Breathe Me” by Sia extremely loudly as I drove away… like Claire does in the Six Feet Under series finale.  (SPOILER ALERT… ALSO MAY CAUSE IRREPRESSIBLE SOBBING)

This is not a joke.  Though, admittedly, amongst the tears, I fell into fits of laughter at myself throughout the duration of the song.  After all, I was listening to it mostly while stuck in traffic… and that doesn’t really have the same “out on the open road” effect.

Despite the sublime fish tacos I ate somewhere gross near Bakersfield, my enthusiasm for the drive petered out around Redding, and by the time I reached Portland (more traffic) I was listening to Katy Perry on repeat, chugging coffee, rolling down the windows, blasting the heater, and staring down the unwitting drivers stuck next to me.  They hadn’t been driving for a million hours.  They knew what it felt like to walk around.

Oh, and I drove through a city called Central Point in Oregon that looked like this:

photo-3
This was before all of the dementors swooped down on my car.

I guess that’s all for now.  I’m tired and I have to wake up early for work.

What?
I was beginning to think I’d never say that.  Or maybe I just thought that the next time I said that I’d mean “wake up early to open up Starbucks.”  Or something.

Speaking of which, I hear the coffee is good up here.  And, according to both Fifty Shades of Grey and Twilight, I will soon meet a dark, handsome stranger with a dangerous secret.

Screw it.

I am really just moving to Washington because pot is legal up here.  420 24/7. #sweetjane

….just kidding.

(Sorry this post fell apart.  Oh, and if you wanted to know what my main job is – I’m interning for Seattle magazine.  And I intend to kick some serious ass.)

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