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Thursday, Don't mind me, I'm just moderately depressed I had my first headhunter interview today -- the curly lamb who reviewed my resume was noncommittally supportive, suggested a few refinements in the layout of my resume and discussed what I wanted in my ideal job (something within a half hour's drive, $60,000 a year and a boss who doesn't micromanage me, basically). I have another interview tomorrow, a real one with a company (unfortunately I don't have instructions on how to get out there and the headhunter who was supposed to email this all to me is out of town, so I have to hope I can reach the account manager before I have to leave tomorrow morning to get an address and a contact name, arrrgh), and I even have some decent interview clothes (nice silvery top and long black shirt with muted silver and blue flowers -- professional without being fussy). So why am I feeling so incredibly dejected? Part of it may have something to do with reading Tim Powers' Expiration Date -- it's a good book, but awfully dark, dense and somewhat hard to follow at points. I've had to space it out with Richard E. Grant's With Nails -- A Film Diary just to keep some sense of sanity. Part of it is continuing anxiety over my lack of a severance check, part of it is a deeply frustrating wish that my beloved ex-boss could get something put together and hire me for his company (I keep hearing crumbs of info from assorted people, and I'm getting these paranoid fantasies that he may want everyone else associated with the project except me), part of it is dejection at the fact that I may have to take a job with a commute from Hell because it seems to be the only thing out there. I'm too damned cute and talented for this crap, I really am. Blech.
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