So my days are consisting of applying for new jobs, furiously and with a smidgen of bitterness. The bitterness is being quenched by late nights out, evidenced by black hovercraft-sized bags under the eyes. Attractive.
Am I’m losing dignity fast, not that I don’t lose dignity in my day-to-day life, but I have applied for an internal journalist position where I would be writing articles on say provident funds, “Why The Taxman Is Screwing You,” and accountant profiles. Riveting.
I hate the job finding process. Interviews are fine, but it’s such a pedantic process of waiting and waiting. I don’t want to sit at home day-in and day-out – I will drive myself crazy. I need purpose. And I need it now.
Some jobs sound exciting, like the editorial magazine positions, but quite frankly, I’m applying for everything available in Johannesburg, short of a professional data capturer. Seriously.
And, now being the sensational capitalist I am: I want a new car. Perhaps its because I have been driving Steve’s Audi around and I am sick of my golfcart-I-should-wear-a-helmut-when-I-drive-Uno. But first I need to get a job and then a loan through my friendly bank manager. I dare to dream.
And it would be red or black.