Liminal seasons as they are, fall and spring seem to be the times of year in which we most crave change. Call it spring cleaning (or fall dirtying? why doesn't fall get a thing?), but I always feel like doing something new when the weather changes, like changing my nail polish color or shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die or something. You know, something festive and fun. And normally I would be eagerly anticipating the change of seasons with joy, but this year, well, I can't really get into it. Why, do you ask? It's the silence.
You see, I've been applying for jobs for a few months now, and, things being what they are in the world, etc, I've found myself facing a flurry of rejection, a handful of awkward interviews, and a giant void of silence. The rejection I can deal with, I mean, I went to high school in the United States, so, I've got that down. The awkward interviews don't faze me, awkward is, frankly, my calling card, so I make it work, taking each one with a grain of salt, (and, later, a shot of tequila). It's the silence that has begun to get to me, though, it's the silence that is bringing me down. You pour your heart and soul and the better part of an hour into a cover letter explaining in great but succinct detail how you would be the perfect development assistant/fry cook/baseball coach/mayor, and you check that everything is correct and that everyone possible has been thanked for their consideration, and then you carefully send it off by email/mail/carrier pigeon, and you wait. And wait. And wait. Godot himself walks by during your time spent waiting, he says hi, you two have some coffee, he moves on. And all you are left with is silence, nothingness, the sound of one hand clapping. No wonder they called it the Great Depression, because this is painful.
Look, I know that in this situation the companies and businesses and clown troupes have the power; there are ten million of me and only a few of them, I get it. And I'm certainly not expecting a hand written thank you note every time I send in an application. But really, is sheer silence the only option? Can't there be any kind of acknowledgement that I have, in fact, made an effort and you have received the fruits of my labor? Because as it is I can't help but imagine my job applications floating out there in the universe, blowing the wind, disturbing sleeping homeless people and amusing squirrels. I don't like squirrels, and I really don't appreciate the image of them getting acorn pieces all over my cover letters and mocking my special skills section on my resume. I'd like to see THEIR resumes, stupid squirrels...
In times like these when you find yourself confused, concerned, and contemplating squirrelicide, the best solution is to breathe, try to relax, and find yourself something else upon which to place your focus. And if you can't change your career path and the authorities wont let you hunt squirrels in public places, there is no better place to go then to your appearance. And so I cut off my hair. Well, I say I did, but really it was a nice man with expensive scissors and more product then that one character in Glee. After all, if change wont come to you, you might as well go out and find it.
So, I'm still applying for jobs, I'm still living in the huge hit of silence and suffering, and I still hate squirrels. But I look good. So, you know, net gain, I say. Happy October, people.
Leah Franqui is a fairly interesting person/director/writer/reader/eater/drinker. She likes ugly dogs and dislikes her hair in the morning. She's a sucker for environmental causes and plays hardball with deals on chewing gum. She is a struggle.