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May We All Live Long and Prosper

A photo of a cup of coffee.

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Last night became a late night. Unable to stop looking for work opportunities online, I knew I would need coffee this morning. Upon waking I made only twelve ounces in order to conserve the precious beans, which can’t be replenished until someone offers me a job, or a miracle occurs. I may have enough left for two more mornings of not quite enough. (Which renders the next sentence wince inspiring.)  No — I didn’t spill it, I simply forgot that the refrigerator wasn’t cooling properly for a while last week, and that three veggie hotdogs along with four slices of cheese had sprouted fur as a result. Yes. I poured about a tablespoon of last week’s half and half (the only half and half) into my cup. I witnessed the slow motion plop of the newly globby substance, as if in a daze. I held out small hope that it could be removed with a spoon, but of course that was impossible. Hot liquid trumps semi-solid goop. It was bad enough that I hadn’t been able to pour myself a cup for an hour, because I’d been sidetracked by a perfunctory check of my email and, with the printer being low on ink, trying to figure out how to change a PDF job application download so I could type into it and not have to labor over my handwriting to make the application presentable. (That didn’t work.) I drank the coffee. I had to. Pouring it out would have been more of a blow than the borderline horrible flavor; and I needed the caffeine.

Okay, so now the spin. Being my own personal, internal, P.R. person (the persona being my head– and the public being my, as of late, fragile heart) I decided to assure myself that there is no portent in this mistake. This day could very well continue on as a good one. One that could go down in history as a turning point toward success, or at least as a portal to something needed and found. This could be the day that a person with a sensitive soul can be allowed to be gentle and sincere in her job search, and not have to remember the explicit job seekers script, written in what seems like a foreign language that we are all told to memorize and be able to impeccably improvise with, when necessary. If nothing else, this could be the day that I learn to get past momentary disappointment without tears because, of course, there’s no crying in the real world, and I definitely need some practice in that — seeing as how I only recently got that memo.


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