I recently found out that my job situation for when we move to Connecticut in a few weeks (just for a couple of months, don't worry!) is no longer iron-clad. Meaning I don't have one anymore. They failed to mention I'd need to attend an expensive distant week-long training camp and pass a 550-yard-straight swimming test (immediately followed by a 20-foot dive to retrieve a 10-pound weight...) I don't think I've ever been in that good of shape in my life. Have you? Would you do that just for a little month-long job at a scout camp? I wouldn't. And so that's why I have no job. There's talk that maybe I'll get to be a clerk at the camp. Err...see the statement above about dead brain cells and how awesome that is.
So in the mean time, I'm applying for random internships in New York City, because how is that not a potentially amazing experience? I tried to get in touch with a lady in charge of internships at a museum there, asking if there were any late openings, and if not, if she knew of any openings still available at other museums through her networking that I know she does because if she didn't she'd be a failure at her job. Her response? Word for word:
The summer internships are closed.
Lame Lady Lame
She obviously read my well-composed and professional (and succinct) email. Can't even be bothered to use my name. Or prove she cares about humanity. I bet she even eats not-dolphin-safe tuna.
Anyway, so it's likely I won't really be doing anything this summer except being in Connecticut and occasionally getting paid to watch babies or walk dogs or whatever else I can be contracted out to do. In the mean time, I want to write a book. Yes. At least that's what I'm telling myself. But considering the first sentence of this post...the probability of that happening (go statistics words, yeah!) is pretty low. So I'll just play tour guide when my parents come out to visit at the beginning of July, pretend I know how to navigate NYC, learn how to navigate the hedge maze that is Connecticut, and let those hard-earned-college-degree brain cells dribble out my ears. I'll write when (or if) I feel like it. Hopefully that'll be enough material for a book. Don't ask what it's about yet, it's still more of a blastocyst than a baby, so to speak. Speaking of babies, it'd probably be harder to write if I had one. Or four (this is an awkward segue for me to direct you to this hilarious thing that my mom wrote that I was going to incorporate into a Mother's Day post, but I got lazy).
In other news, today is my birthday. I don't feel old. Actually, I feel like I'm starting to catch up to how old I've felt since I was 16. Long story. In honor of my birthday, I got phone calls and texts from friends and family (always nice), I was told by my sister in Scotland at the moment that I was also Nessie's little sister (and a good one too), I was featured by my other sister (not Nessie) in all my strange glory for the internet (or whoever reads her blog) to see, Sam has promised me lots of good food as my birthday gift, my father-in-law sent me an email saying he was taking a tour of Jerusalem and that he'd think of me (jealous), and my little brother sent me pictures of cats he's been collecting during his time in Boston.
|My media editing abilities know no bounds.|