Today I got a call from a recruiter about a job. A real job. I suppose it seems unfair to classify some jobs as real and some as *not* real, but it makes sense in my head.  The gas station, though exhausting, was not real work because it didn’t make use of any of my skills.  Likewise, when I was a secretary at the hospital, that wasn’t a real job… Because a monkey could have done it.  My job with the Demons, despite taking place from my house, was a real job because it required real skills.  Likewise, the corporate job I had earlier this year was a real job.

So yes… I got a call about a real job.  A real job in my field that pays $2k more per year than my last real job, which paid quite nicely itself.

I had given up on finding a real job.  I search the job boards regularly and I rarely find anything.  I mean, I find a buttload of receptionist jobs.  But REAL jobs?  Like, in my field type of jobs?  Almost never.  So I had stopped hoping.  I pulled out my “poor purse,” went to the food bank, and got on with life, figuring that eventually I’d be lucky enough to land one of those $10/hour receptionist jobs.  It was depressing to think about starting a whole new career as an underpaid clerical worker, where I’d have to live in a tiny shithole apartment or rent a room in someone else’s house… Where I’d have to clip coupons for the rest of my life, not for fun but because I had to in order to survive.  The outlook was pretty grim in my mind.

This call today did two things for me.  First, it gave me hope.  And second, it reminded me of exactly who I am.  Right now I’m destitute, but I wasn’t always. Right now I’m unemployed, but I wasn’t always. I used to be on a career path, and I can get back on it. Even if this job doesn’t pan out, I will be incredibly happy to have gotten the call, because it’s made me feel better about myself.  I’ve been down and out lately.  Self esteem?  Hah.  It’s hard to have self-esteem when you can’t pay your rent, a charity has to help with your electric bill, you’re eating stale bread from the food pantry, and your significant other is (or was, I guess) fascinated with someone who is vibrant, alive, employed, and independent.

It had really seemed like “real life” was something that was reserved for other people.  Careers, savings, shopping, restaurants, cars, concerts… Seemed like things that were completely out of my reach.  In other words, I had started to become my mother, who thinks of Olive Garden as a fancy & incredibly expensive restaurant.  And I don’t want to be my mother.  She’s not happy.