At first, I set my sights high and my expectations higher. My search results were endlessly filtered, first through the word "internship," then by location, and finally, via a checked box marked "paid opportunity." I found three jobs that fit my criteria exactly. ("Sure things," my parents and I agreed.)
After those didn't pan out, I panicked. Fast food restaurants sporting "Help Wanted" signs suddenly became precious to me. I became proficient in the online corporate application process, shelling out references and touting my limited job experience to any Midwestern franchise you could name. I went on walks through my town's tiny shopping district and 90s-stye indoor mall, stopping every employee I came across to ask, "Are you hiring? Can I speak to your manager? Is there an application process that I could explore?"
Five interviews, one sleepless night and zero prospects later, here I am, back at square one.
I used to be convinced that failure wasn’t a viable outcome for people who worked hard and smiled enough. Of course, that's not true, but I'm just now feeling the weight of that realization. My tiny, privileged body is buckling under the stress. (Poor me, blah blah blah, I know.)
So, I'm back in my hometown, I'm bored out of my skull and I've got $50 in my checking account. I have the opportunity to earn a few dollars here and there by doing housework for my parents, but even then, my profits go towards the numerous parking fines I accrued while at college. (This is not to mention the cost of repairing a destroyed pair of Ugg boots which may or may not belong to my ex-roommate. My bad, Lauren.)
I guess what I'm trying to say is this:
I'm an up-and-coming freelance writer with a decent blogging portfolio. Here's my LinkedIn profile. Feel free to get in touch.