The accident reconstruction model gig made my day, but that high only lasted one day. A day later, it took all the strength in me to fight off paralysis (triggered by my apparent inability to land a job). What other variable could I again change to improve the situation?

I called on my college friend Jenny today. She works in Portland but her company is national and it has vacancies at their CA offices. I asked her to pass my info to the right person regarding a marketing coordinator position downtown. Almost immediately, I got a call. The bad news is, the hiring manager said the job was really a “production assistant” more than a marketing person. In other words, the PA would be responsible for placing text into InDesign/Pakemaker to generate reports and such. While I could certainly become more familiar with both of these software applications, my preference is content development. And she stressed there was no technical writing or content development involved. Her voice was doubtful: she questioned whether the job would be challenging or even interesting. Way to sell the position, right? I mean, maybe she was saying I was overqualified? Was that supposed to be comforting? I don’t know.

Regardless, this afternoon, after looking around this tiny apartment, forever littered with dirty, cluttered piles of clothes, dishes, and junk, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the endless cleaning and washing required to keep this raft barely afloat. I felt tired– the constant job hunting, the pathetic combing of job boards, the brief optimism of new finds, and the depressing blow of rejection that followed.

And then my mom called. My parents are always calling me… maybe only once or twice a week but already, it feels like too much. They’re always like, “Well since you’re not working now, maybe you can read through all these contracts since our English isn’t good…” or “Well if you have nothing to do, maybe you can post more ads for our condo…” As if I were sitting in front of the tv eating bon bons all fucking day. Ok, yes. I watched Laguna Beach. For like 10 days. That trend died weeks ago. During the day, I don’t even turn the tv on anymore.

So anyway, mom had called me a few days earlier. She had heard about some intensive EFL program for native Mandarin speakers at Georgetown. The program was highly competitive and covered by scholarship. After the program, fellows were assigned to a government job, I assume in some kind of Department of Homeland Security post. Despite my disgust with anything DOHS, I tried to be supportive. After all, this was a great educational and motivational opportunity for my mother. Learning’s always good, right? So she sent me her application essays. They were decent but, as expected, far from native level. So I spent three hours editing them, making them more fluid. Emailed them back the same day.

This morning? She called and said she decided not to apply. WHAT THE FUCK? So her reason is that she doesn’t want to be a spy or an employee of the CIA. Ok, back it up. Jesus Christ. Mom, you’re not going to become a goddamn spy following a 6-month English program. Puhleez. I mean, first off, you need to be fully knowledgeable of government and politics, which most you (and most people) aren’t. Second, you need to have security clearance. Third, you need to meet like a spy profile or whatever. I mean, the government isn’t going to just pick some random citizen because she has native language Mandarin, you know? I was so frickin’ pissed off. People did a lot of work for her application. Someone wrote her a recommendation. I edited essays. The LEAST she could do is apply. If she gets the spot, THEN she can think about declining or accepting. I swear, my mother frustrates me to no end. It’s not just this application. It’s so many other things. She’s like one of those people who bitches and complains and then NEVER does anything to change or improve her situation. And she doesn’t give a damn about anything outside her backyard. You’d think she herself actually experienced the Depression or something, with her whole paranoid, dog eat dog attitude. Seriously, she is a captive of fear.

Yeah, I know. These aren’t particularly nice things to say about my mother. Well, the way I see it, this is my blog and I tell it like it is. Frankly, my family– like many families– is fucked up. I’m not blaming anyone or anything. I’m just being matter-of-fact about it. We don’t connect. I haven’t spoken to my brother in like three years. For some people, that’s hard to understand. But to me, anything closer than distant is uncomfortable. Even growing up, we like never ate meals together. Dad was working, mom was in school or working, Johnny and I did various afterschool activities. To this day, regular family dinners is a bizarre concept. If my family dines together now, we just eat. We don’t talk. People who like tell stories and joke around and ask about each others’ days? What the hell is that? Weirds me out. The purpose of a meal is to eat. I shovel my food in and that’s that. Next.

Oh, I almost forgot. Maybe I should stop surfing Craigslist. Take a look at this garbage. No wonder I’ve been in a pissy mood:

Oh. my. fucking. god. Ugh!