Back with a vengeance
I feel very bad for those of you who have come to rely on my plaintive diatribes for regular procrastination and entertainment.
Did that sound surly?
Back in college, people used to call me surly. I can't imagine why. Whether I was surly or not before people started calling me that, I was certainly surly once I'd been labeled as surly. There's no way to refute an accusation of surliness without sounding surly. ("Stop calling me surly," I'd say. "Boy, you're surly today," would be the reply.)
In a nod to a convention from the early days of this chronicle, let's see what the dictionary has to say about the word "surly". (I'm obligated to turn to Merriam-Webster. The OED would be my first choice, but use of that resource is a privilege reserved for those currently enrolled in America's finer institutions of higher learning.)
surly: irratably sullen or churlish in mood or manner.
Sounds about right.
By way of comparison, I might describe surliness as anger with the temperature turned to low and left to simmer. I may have been surly back in the day, but a lot of stuff has been happening lately that has (if you'll forgive the extension of the metaphor) been turning up the heat.
In short, I'm angry.
Consider: The Friday before last I took a train into Manhattan for an interview at a publishing company. Even before I found my way to where I was supposed to be, I was a mess. The office was on 6th Avenue at 50th Street; I brilliantly walked all the way to 60th Street on 5th Avenue before realizing my error. I made it on time, but I was hot and probably sweating profusely. The woman I interviewed seemed completely disinterested almost from the get-go. She asked a few standard questions (which I answered with as much gusto as I could muster) and then ended the interview with an abrupt, "Well, that sounds good. We'll let you know." Today I got an email telling my how impressive my qualifications were, but how they'd found someone else who was a better fit. Imagine my surprise. It took considerable effort to keep myself from punching a hole in the wall.
Consider: My job at the biz mag ended on Friday. (I dropped Qpac a couple of weeks ago.) Where does that leave me now? The same place I was a year ago. Un-f***ing-employed. I can't think of anything I would rather do *less* than applying for jobs again.
Consider: I had to pick up my dog's remains from the vet on Friday. You might wonder why this might make me angry. Without getting into too much detail, let's just say that my own emotions have, by necessity, taken a back seat to the emotions of the other parties affected by the loss.
Consider: One year out (plus a couple of weeks) and I'm still in the same place: physically, emotionally, geographically, professionally.
Consider: I'm taking the LSAT a week from today. I had a good run of practice tests for a couple of days, but then I took a nose dive (relatively speaking). I can say with confidence that I'll score within a five-point range. Doesn't sound like much, but the difference between scoring at the top of the range and the bottom is the difference between getting into a law school I'd be excited to go and...well...not.
Consider: I've got two God-awful unfinished short stories decomposing in the Works-in-Progress folder of my Word Documents. (The part that makes me angry is that I wish they were good.)
What's the next step? Keep studying for the LSAT. Apply to a job at the Yale Press. Apply to a couple of Craigslist jobs. Call around to a few area Catholic schools to see if they're looking for an uncertified English teacher.
Finally, what bona fide T(U) post ends without a platitude? How's this one: Stop spouting platitudes and do something with your pathetic life, loser.
Did that sound surly?
Back in college, people used to call me surly. I can't imagine why. Whether I was surly or not before people started calling me that, I was certainly surly once I'd been labeled as surly. There's no way to refute an accusation of surliness without sounding surly. ("Stop calling me surly," I'd say. "Boy, you're surly today," would be the reply.)
In a nod to a convention from the early days of this chronicle, let's see what the dictionary has to say about the word "surly". (I'm obligated to turn to Merriam-Webster. The OED would be my first choice, but use of that resource is a privilege reserved for those currently enrolled in America's finer institutions of higher learning.)
surly: irratably sullen or churlish in mood or manner.
Sounds about right.
By way of comparison, I might describe surliness as anger with the temperature turned to low and left to simmer. I may have been surly back in the day, but a lot of stuff has been happening lately that has (if you'll forgive the extension of the metaphor) been turning up the heat.
In short, I'm angry.
Consider: The Friday before last I took a train into Manhattan for an interview at a publishing company. Even before I found my way to where I was supposed to be, I was a mess. The office was on 6th Avenue at 50th Street; I brilliantly walked all the way to 60th Street on 5th Avenue before realizing my error. I made it on time, but I was hot and probably sweating profusely. The woman I interviewed seemed completely disinterested almost from the get-go. She asked a few standard questions (which I answered with as much gusto as I could muster) and then ended the interview with an abrupt, "Well, that sounds good. We'll let you know." Today I got an email telling my how impressive my qualifications were, but how they'd found someone else who was a better fit. Imagine my surprise. It took considerable effort to keep myself from punching a hole in the wall.
Consider: My job at the biz mag ended on Friday. (I dropped Qpac a couple of weeks ago.) Where does that leave me now? The same place I was a year ago. Un-f***ing-employed. I can't think of anything I would rather do *less* than applying for jobs again.
Consider: I had to pick up my dog's remains from the vet on Friday. You might wonder why this might make me angry. Without getting into too much detail, let's just say that my own emotions have, by necessity, taken a back seat to the emotions of the other parties affected by the loss.
Consider: One year out (plus a couple of weeks) and I'm still in the same place: physically, emotionally, geographically, professionally.
Consider: I'm taking the LSAT a week from today. I had a good run of practice tests for a couple of days, but then I took a nose dive (relatively speaking). I can say with confidence that I'll score within a five-point range. Doesn't sound like much, but the difference between scoring at the top of the range and the bottom is the difference between getting into a law school I'd be excited to go and...well...not.
Consider: I've got two God-awful unfinished short stories decomposing in the Works-in-Progress folder of my Word Documents. (The part that makes me angry is that I wish they were good.)
What's the next step? Keep studying for the LSAT. Apply to a job at the Yale Press. Apply to a couple of Craigslist jobs. Call around to a few area Catholic schools to see if they're looking for an uncertified English teacher.
Finally, what bona fide T(U) post ends without a platitude? How's this one: Stop spouting platitudes and do something with your pathetic life, loser.
posted by temporarily unemployed at 10:10
2 Comments:
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