I had one tab open on my browser all day.  It was the digital job application for an health club that has an LMT opening.  Yay, right?  Yay. . . .

I promised Nick I’d apply for three days in a row, and this morning I finally got up the courage.  Or maybe I got up the indifference.  I detest applying for jobs, because I feel judged.  Well, it’s because I am.  It makes my soul shrink within me to be turned down, and I prefer to avoid the whole process to keep myself safe from being told I am average, mediocre, and not what they need.  My biggest, hugest, most ginormousest fear is being not good enough.  Not good enough as a wife, not good enough at knitting, at running, at being skinny, at gardening, at cooking, at reading, at being smart, I do not want to know I’m not special.

Anyway, I applied.  I opened the page at around 10 am today, and I am proud to say I hit submit just fifteen minutes ago, at 7:45ish pm.  See, I had most of the application done by 11am, but then, then, I accidentally clicked a button on the toolbar(?) at the top of my browser and navigated away.  I screamed.   I hit “back”.   I saw that nothing had saved.  I screamed some more.  I called Betna.  She didn’t answer.  I left her a nice message full of profanity and quavery voice.  After that, I decided to fill out some of the basic information again and then go lie down with a book.  I just couldn’t handle the idea of writing out my strengths and weaknesses and lists of my duties at current and previous jobs and addresses and identifying three references that were neither friends nor relatives (huh?).  I did a little more after my book nap.  I did a little more after I got out of the shower.  I did a little more after my sister got here, and then I did nothing until I got home from shopping with her.  Nick had two friends over, so I did a little more.

Then I made dinner!  It went okay, but one of the bits flopped open with great violence and attitude and spread its guts everywhere.  I let out yet another string of contextually nonsensical profanities.  Everything’s fine, dinner went quite deliciously, except I didn’t put jalapeños in it.  After dinner, I was still keyed up because 1) the friends hadn’t left yet, even though I had prepared, made, and eaten dinner with only Nikolai (and seriously guys, dinner when you’re not invited is not something you stick around for if you can help it) and 2) that stupid quesadilla messed itself up!  Nikolai unplugged something at the back of his computer, and then said in the most disturbing, slow motion voice ever (maybe I’m the only one that heard the slow-mo?), “The internet’s gonna reset.”  Whereupon I lost what little sanity and control I had.  I smiled, hyperventilated, almost punched a cabinet, sobbed, and shouted.  Well, I spoke very meanly in an intense fashion, so I might as well have used less words and more volume.  It’s an inverse formula like that.  I then said rude things, gender-specific rude things, and stomped off to the bedroom with my beer.  Nikolai came in later and we talked and I calmed down, friend1 left, and I left the room, finished the application, hit submit.  Eventually friend2 left as well.

I hate job applications.

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