Well, despite some torrential rains, one of the worst allergy attacks of my thirty-nine years and that nauseating moth infestation, my week out in Quogue was a lovely and much-needed respite. At the very least, my kids got to run around on the beach, frolic on the grass and spend a lot of time playing with their cousins. Even though the week sprinted by, I managed to lose all track of time. I suppose life is like that when you're not expected to be back at your desk by a certain point.
Back here in the city, however, it's tough to think about anything else. It's been three weeks to the day since I was informed of the dissolution of my job. In such time, I've e-mailed upwards of a hundred people and distributed countless copies of my resume. Friends of mine have kindly called in favors and spread the word about my predicament, and cc'd me on e-mails they've sent to their friends, throwing my name into the mix for consideration. While I continue to sit on my hands, waiting to hear back from a few choice contacts, it hasn't been all bad news. I did manage to land an interview request from a widely renowned pop culture media outlet. Unfortunately, there ended up being a crucial snag. After we'd settled on a date to meet, it was suddenly disclosed that the interview (and, for the matter, the job itself) was to take place on the West Coast. Much apologizing for the miscommunication ensued, and best wishes for the future were exchanged. Twisting the knife a little bit, my woulda-been interviewer mentioned that he'd actually had two potential job openings in mind for me. Oh well. At the very least, it means he presumably liked what he saw on my resume.
So, I continue to hunt and e-mail and tweak and call and ask and wait. It's the waiting that's the toughest. My friends and former colleagues have been beyond supportive. "Be a warrior!" said one recently. "Be a bit more aggressive than you normally might," said another. These guys know me. For all my tough talk, they know I'm not big on boat-rockin'. Maybe it was the fourteen years of Catholic education I endured, but the blowing of my own horn (figuratively speaking, you pervs!) is not really one of my strong points. I consider it rude, presumptuous and boorish. But life is not a utopian meritocracy. You should never assume that people -- especially the ones in power -- are paying attention to your hard work. While my resume may have some nice, impressive words and entirely respectable accomplishments on it, no one's going to give it even a passing glance unless I am assertive about it. My contacts can potentially put me in a better kicking range, but no one's going to get the actual ball into the goal for me. I must be the one to make it happen.
And I'm trying to make it happen, believe me. I have two little mouths to feed, after all. And in a short matter of days, my medical benefits run out, making me eligible for the ominously-acronymned COBRA (why would you name a medical insurance plan after a malevolent predator?) I honestly can't remember the last time I needed to go to a doctor, but kids seem to need to go constantly. As such, life could get very expensive shortly. So I continue to try and call and e-mail and ask and solicit and push.
And I continue to wait.
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