Do they really need to know where I went to grade school and whether I graduated? What will they think when they see I was a bank teller supervisor 10 years ago? (Oh my god. Ten years ago.) Must I confess my present salary and leave off the accompanying diatribe about being financially independent for 10 years, most of which involved being a full-time student, then an entry-level HPPP, and hence the debt that�s making me beg for extra hourly work, in hopes of scoring a couple of hundred a month?
It�s a tough spot. My friends are managers, lawyers and computer gurus. The teachers are married. It�s hard for them to understand the gravity of the situation, and it�s hard for me to not resent them for their impatience with me, as I stay home alone, studying the meager employment ads, fixing pots of lentil soup, dreaming of getting my car fixed, stewing about the cat�s need for a vet appointment, and trying to not cry over the dullness and futility the endless hours.
I hate this. I want to worry about things of more (higher?) importance. Like Jeremy�s new boyfriend.
An invisible roommate would really hit the spot right now.
And a nap. Perhaps I can sleep on the ride to Chicago. When I finish my lunch, we�re going to the zoo.