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Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Wish in One Hand

On Monday, Labor Day, I celebrated and moaned a bit about My Ideal Job being already created and filled by The Bloggess and suggested that you visit Labors of Love at Escape Into Life.

Today, I refer you to Art as a Labor of Love, by me, with art by Aurelio Madrid, also at EIL, where, of course, I work for free. 

Please let us know what wonderful ways the arts community is giving back to you.

Lest you think all I do is moan and groan and visualize ideal jobs emerging from slightly erotic seedpods, I want to assure you that I am actively looking for real jobs and actually applied for four fine jobs this summer for which I was well-qualified, except maybe by strict online keyword standards if your application is being graded by a machine.

Clearly, I did not get them. I had a fabulous interview for one, but it went to an internal candidate, as so many ideal jobs do. I had even asked about that possibility during the interview, so I had a heads-up. It would have been “ideal” in being part-time and allowing me to pursue my artsy fartsy interests on the side and on the job, but less than ideal if internals wanted it to go to someone else. Which is often true, as is the fact that many jobs are merely posted for legal reasons but will go to previously determined very, very likely candidates.

This is the current job market, and it stinks. But I am still somehow “furiously happy,” as The Bloggess puts it!

For one thing, I still have my excellent job as Poetry Cheerleader, which does not require me to do the tiger jump.

The right job will come my way, and I wish it would come my way the way it does in books. In the book I am currently reading, which shall remain nameless to avoid spoilers, all three sisters have been offered ideal jobs in passing during random conversations.

Would you like to be a barista? Yes! How about a tenure-track teaching position where you always wanted to teach? You betcha! Oh, by the way, I’m taking a leave of absence. Even though you don’t have any experience or a degree in this, would you like my job as head librarian?

OK, some of this is going to work out, and some of this is going to get complicated for all three characters, because that’s what happens in novels. But why don’t I ever get offered a job in passing during a random conversation?

Oh. Yes. That’s how I got my last ideal job. Which I really did love and was grateful for. But which ended up as the stuff in the hand that fills up faster.

11 comments:

  1. Well now you are referencing my father-in-law, who taught my husband early that you can wish in one hand and "oomph" in the other and see which fills up faster. :)

    Glad you are out there cheerleading. I know a job will find its way to you sooner or later.

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  2. Thanks, Sandy! I know I will, too! And even if it's less than ideal, it will be better than...oomph!

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  3. Haha--how I can relate! All you can do is hang in there, and make sure you have lots of passing, random conversations. You never know what's around the corner. ;)

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  4. Thanks, Jayne! Yes, lately I find I keep saying, "Hey, I'm available!"

    Hmm....

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  5. Bring on the random opportunities. That's where it is AT.

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  6. And at the job where we worked together, I was only there because of a random conversation with... You! It works both ways, in other words.

    I have never heard "oomph" for what you do in the other hand. I have heard spit. Now I feel silly for not realizing that spit was standing in for something.

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  7. Aauugghh, oomph, and spit, Julie, I'm sorry! I forgot that aspect!

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  8. Spent time discussing labor statistics and perfect jobs and skirting around that other labor and delivery topic over the holiday weekend with wonderful, frustrated young adults. We all agreed that we would really like the job of making special birthday Google homepages....

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  9. Oooh, that does sound like a good job!

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  10. I want to name nail polish. Is that too much to ask?

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  11. Excellent ideal job. I actually purchased some nail polish for its name: Chicago Champagne Toast.

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