The life of the party.

This week, I’ve met with a few recruiters and a friend who just out and out offered me a jobby job.

One of the recruiters was clearly hungover. When My Guy asked me for a quick update on the meeting later, I said, “She was maybe 12, wearing a too-short skirt and cheap shoes.” Then, in a moment of self-reflection, I added, “I wonder why I have no friends.”

The other, super-excellent recruiter was so nice and energetic and positive about finding terrific gigs for me and erasing my experience at Mega Corporate Behemoth from my memory. She was excited … and I was having trouble matching her energy level.

I’m beyond exhausted. Like, as I was driving home from meeting with the super-bestest recruiter this afternoon, I felt so run-down that I actually thought, “Gee, maybe I have mono.”

I don’t have mono. I might have a corporate form of PTSD. Oh, and there’s the little business of being jacked up on hormones for a good portion of the summer and then finding out that, oh, I’M BARREN. So, maybe no wonder I’m sleeping a solid 11 hours a night.

Maybe no wonder I can’t get excited about another job. Maybe no wonder I’m feeling pretty ambivalent about everything. Maybe no wonder.

I’m not depressed in that “Oh JesusAllahBuddhaOprah, how can I possibly go on?” sort of way. I’m just more … umm … wondering if I have mono. Because I am worn out. Because I can’t fathom working right now, even though I’ve always worked a lot. Because I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.

So, I’m sleeping. And painting baseboards, because our house will never be done. And trying to have faith that all things will be revealed in due time.

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