Comfortable With Conformity

August 18th

Saturday, later in the afternoon

I want to cry.

I am totally sad and depressed and lonely.

My parents are out. S is away touring for god knows how long. My friends, if you can call them that, are nowhere to be found. I did the laundry, cleaned the bathroom, made the bed, lit some incense, took a shower, and job hunted for about half an hour. It's 4 pm.

I cannot articulate how much I want this office assistant job I interviewed for on Tuesday. I need it. I need them to call me. I keep going over possible scenarios in my head:

"Hello, is _____ there? _____, this is Mike, from Eskra & Associates. How would you like to come work for us?"

And I would say yes and jump up and down. My parents would take me out to dinner. I would call every person I knew and shout, "I GOT A FUCKING JOB." I would write about it here. I would scream to anyone who would listen, "I GOT A JOB." I would ask my mom to buy me a Carvel cake with "Happy New Job" on it. I would go back to the Ann Taylor Loft at Sawgrass Mills and buy another suit. I would cry.

Staying home, with no torture. I try to find projects to do, like cleaning out our terminally messy closet, or writing a story, but I'm unsuccessful. I feel a weight in my stomach and a prickling in my eyes, like I'm about to burst from so much sadness.

Well, I'm going to retrieve my laundry from the dryer and...think of something to do.

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