Tuesday, September 13, 2005

So Frustrated

Unemployment sucks. It takes out all the joy of having free time. I just have this constant feeling of guilt that I'm not doing anything worthwhile and earning money.

I called up several of my temp agencies and none of them have anything at the moment. The one who gave me my last temp job thanked me for giving a good impression of the agency because my supervisor told her I was 'fantastic'. Well, if I'm so fantastic, why can't I get a proper job?! Argh.

The woman with whom I had the interview last week hasn't called. I know she said she'll call at the end of the week but I just want her to hurry up with my rejection so I can get rid of that tiny bit of hope that's always there when there's no certainty of an interview outcome.

What scares me is that soon I won't even be able to say that I'm a 'recent graduate' because I've graduated almost a year ago! My student life is way in the past. I can't use uni as an excuse not to face the real world. Maybe I should change professions... Yeah right. That would just delay 'facing the real world' lengthy process because I'd have to go back to study.

I got called today about a media event I volunteered for through the film school. I'm not even that excited about it because it's not a real job. Although I guess I do get to go the event for free. I bet I'll be stuck with some tedious job and won't see anything good anyway.

I was even embarrassed to tell David about finishing my temp job last Friday. Only told him yesterday when he asked how work was. When I told him, he was like, "Why didn't you tell me!" so I said I did (well, I did tell him that it 'could've been' my last week). Then he was like, "We didn't even talk about it" so I said I didn't feel like talking about it. It just puts me in a bad mood. I don't want him to think, "What's wrong with her? Why can't she just get a job?" Of course he'd never say that. He'd say supportive things. Which would be sweet of him. But it wouldn't make me feel any better. Only a job would.

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