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.
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.