This is not a secret, but I’d rather not mention it. Still, the nature of this beast is that I really don’t have anything else to say. I’m sure there’s something, but what I want to record for posterity is that I have a job interview. This is not for the job I’ve mentioned most recently. This is a job I applied for because I thought it would fit and then, life with its current panoply of other jobs and little crazed kittens and its spate of 2016 tire fires continued, and I forgot about it. It actually is on this side of town,
I do feel my share of guilt that I’ve ridden this roller coaster for a year and now that we’re getting ready for the biggest loop-de-loop, I’m opting out. Or, well, that is to say, I’m perhaps mildly confident that I will be allowed to opt out. The boss is not feeling well, and I have shitty feelings about this that I regret, but can’t rid myself of completely. I busted my hump today cleaning and didn’t feel like I did as much as I needed or wanted to do. I am trying, but dread feels as though it shrouds everything and I want out. I deserve out.
I possibly will still apply for the other job I mentioned yesterday. The excitement for it, however, is sufficiently diminished. I was so gearing myself up to handle it and this position that I’m interviewing for has a far easier grade on the learning curve. It isn’t a whole new trade to be picked up, and while the difference in pay is significant, it sort of depends as to where I’d sit on the range, and at the most generous point here and the least generous there, it’s the same salary. For what I’d gather to be a lot less on one single person’s shoulders. For an admin job versus a specialist who has to be generating information for public reporting meetings, etc. In an area that has meaning to me, in a place that’s likely to have people, but people of a quiet, non-aggressive sort. Generally. And benefits that are about the same.
How odd the difference of the bird in the hand versus the few thousand more in the bush. In this matter of birds and bushes, I actually hold neither beyond some fresh newspaper to clean a cage with. I just really have the skillset they’re looking for, so I’m hopeful.
Tonight, we had our traditional family meal to avoid the trick-or-treaters. It’s necessary for my parents, whose seeming unspoken agoraphobia means they have zero interest in handing out candy. For us, living up a flight of stairs in a complex with nearly as many stairs to climb as doors where there might possibly be a treat, the doorbell never rings. But it’s dinner, so we all turn up and talk about relatives and beer flavors and other minutiae while we collectively try and fill out a football bingo card.
It staves off something in my mind and starts something else.