Once my teaching job concluded in early June, I began the job hunt in earnest. Since late March, I had decided I didn't have it in me for yet another first-year teaching job; I've taught two years at two different schools in the district, planning and teaching a total of four different classes. It's true that they get easier as you adapt, but I had several reasons for withdrawing myself from the teaching profession. One primary one is that before Eric finishes up his PhD, we plan to 'start our family' (Eric hates that description, since it implies that he and I do not already constitute a familial unit, but come now, let's pay due tribute to cliches).
If Baby comes along in a couple years, that means all the sweat and work I put into a teaching job will be set aside as I become the stay-at-home mom. Right now, on a scale, saving myself from untold grading and petty issues far outweighs the amusing typos that are bound to be discovered. Enter clerical work. There's something about filing that just makes me happy. I like solving problems that people have, and even monotonous work can be pleasant when I know I won't do the like again for another year.
I was called in mid-July about a position that, of the ones applied for, seemed to be practically a perfect fit. Only problem? I was still in Minnesota; he told me to get in touch once we set foot in Indiana. Once we relocated, I went in for 'testing' on Microsoft Word. I'm pretty sure I wowed them with my finesse at changing fonts and mail merging. Nevertheless, I was told that even though my scores were 'more than adequate,' they'd conducted interviews in my absence and had offered the position to such a person, so they were halting further interviews. Alas, our heroine is thwarted yet again.
So the search continues. And I must say that I dislike job hunting. I know once I'm interviewed if I'm even interested in the job, should they offer it to me. And every job I was suited for and had interest in, I was offered.
Once, after graduating high school, I picked up an application for a position and they did their own sly phone calls to find out about me. I received a call that night and was told, "If you bring in your completed application, the job is yours." That's what I'm talking about; none of this anxious waiting as I pretend I'm not keeping near my phone so as to be ready to casually answer should it ring.
How about this proposition? I'd take a job where I'm paid for completing various tasks. One week, I will be told to make a quilt. Another, I should knit a pair of socks. Then I make stationery. File papers and scan documents. Refinish furniture. Reupholster a chair. Host a dinner party with elaborate dishes. Edit manuscripts slated for publication. Tinker with an old typewriter. Make a working volcano in the park's sandbox. Photograph a wedding. Read The Brothers Karamazov. I couldn't be stumped. Build a three-panel screen? Okay! Landscape a yard? Great! Compose a sonnet, complete with the iambic pentameter? Sure--would you like a Shakespearean or Petrarchan rhyme scheme? I could do both! Whatever the duty, I would tackle it with gusto.
I'm sure one of you out there needs the aforementioned projects completed. I'm not sure what the job title would be, but I'm your gal.