Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Egads. Responsibility.
Having become officially bored with living with my parents and doing nothing, and with a trip to San Francisco in the near future likely, I half-heartedly ventured onto Craigslist to look for housing. I say half-heartedly because, bored as I am here, I have nothing concrete to look forward to elsewhere. Yeah, maybe I'll get a fun job, or meet interesting people, but I don't know for certain, right? And being able to stay home and play video games and read all day sure beats having a boring, lonely job in the city, right?
Because I was specifically unmotivated, when I got to the Craigslist site, I decided to procrastinate by clicking on the jobs button instead of the housing button, for reasons that only make sense to my nonconscious (had I really wanted to procrastinate, there's always "Missed Connections"). Scrolling through the list of non-profit style jobs, I notice one that says "Research Assistant." Hey, I've done that before! I look at it. Hey, I'm actually reasonably technically qualified to do that. My co-ops can be stretched to be called a year of preferably out-of-classroom research experience. History is a social science or related field. And they also want someone detail-oriented. Which I have been called by prestigious members of Antioch's faculty (not that they would know what the term meant. Actually, I think it was Hassan R., who might...) "Good interpersonal skills"........ well, sure, why not. Plus, the work that the company does seems to be good, and it's in a neighborhood that I have been told I should move to.
So naturally, instead of getting excited, I get cold. I have a strange physiological response to getting nervous: I get cold. I don't really feel butterflies in my stomach, but I do shake uncontrollably. I mean, here it is. I'm probably not going to get a better offer. But applying for a real job? Not a four-month trial job? That's rough, man. What if I were to get it? Sweet Jesus, I'd have to go to work, like, every day.
And yet, it's pretty much as good as I'm going to get, barring a close friend of mine suddenly needing a roommate in a place I want to be.
Having become officially bored with living with my parents and doing nothing, and with a trip to San Francisco in the near future likely, I half-heartedly ventured onto Craigslist to look for housing. I say half-heartedly because, bored as I am here, I have nothing concrete to look forward to elsewhere. Yeah, maybe I'll get a fun job, or meet interesting people, but I don't know for certain, right? And being able to stay home and play video games and read all day sure beats having a boring, lonely job in the city, right?
Because I was specifically unmotivated, when I got to the Craigslist site, I decided to procrastinate by clicking on the jobs button instead of the housing button, for reasons that only make sense to my nonconscious (had I really wanted to procrastinate, there's always "Missed Connections"). Scrolling through the list of non-profit style jobs, I notice one that says "Research Assistant." Hey, I've done that before! I look at it. Hey, I'm actually reasonably technically qualified to do that. My co-ops can be stretched to be called a year of preferably out-of-classroom research experience. History is a social science or related field. And they also want someone detail-oriented. Which I have been called by prestigious members of Antioch's faculty (not that they would know what the term meant. Actually, I think it was Hassan R., who might...) "Good interpersonal skills"........ well, sure, why not. Plus, the work that the company does seems to be good, and it's in a neighborhood that I have been told I should move to.
So naturally, instead of getting excited, I get cold. I have a strange physiological response to getting nervous: I get cold. I don't really feel butterflies in my stomach, but I do shake uncontrollably. I mean, here it is. I'm probably not going to get a better offer. But applying for a real job? Not a four-month trial job? That's rough, man. What if I were to get it? Sweet Jesus, I'd have to go to work, like, every day.
And yet, it's pretty much as good as I'm going to get, barring a close friend of mine suddenly needing a roommate in a place I want to be.