I hate looking for work.
At home I sit at the table in the dining room staring at my computer screen, revising my resume just a bit for each new job posting. I research the business names, peruse websites, package myself for sale — and I stress.
On interviews I sit in straight chairs in offices, uptight but trying to appear relaxed. Smiling, while fretting over each word I utter. Hoping that Secret can keep secret my nervous perspiration. All the while trying desperately to remember what I wrote on this resume and what I read about this company.
Each time my phone rings I answer in my very best, most professional manner. As I lift the receiver I try to recall what jobs I’ve applied for, where. My eyes search the table and/or breakfast bar for my note pad and pen. Do I have everything I need to appear competent? (It’s an act, you know.)
Then I raise my head and look out the window. Blue skies. Bluer seas. Palm trees waving in a gentle breeze. White puff clouds floating by. I am in Hawaii.
I turn my head, look at the apartment, compare it to the dump I lived in in Las Vegas. I think of OC and smile.
And the stress dissolves.
Life is good. A job will come. All is well.