I just quit my job.

I feel like a giant weight has been lifted, and I am really, really happy. I have two weeks left and then I go to Nags Head for a week so I can avoid responsibility before returning to the Real World.

I've been planning this since Monday and had my letter of resignation ready yesterday. I talked ot my therapist last night about how happy I was, that I have been feeling uncharacteristically optimistic, considering that I don't really have a plan for what I'll do for work other than temping when I come back to Chicago. But, I feel like I've learned a lot about myself in the last seven months, and for the first time since the beginning of the year, I actually feel pretty happy.

It's a really good feeling.

And, um, if you happen to live in Chicago and know of any job leads, do let me know!

Melancholia

Sometimes I wonder why I'm so predisposed to being angry, sad, and bitter all of the time, since, generally, I'm doing okay for myself. I mean, I can only use my dad's death as viable excuse for so long, you know?

I'm in a general malaise right now. (I hate writing about it on my blog, but bear with me.) I don't think it's one thing that's making me feel like things are such shit, but rather the last four months of hell that have been home life and work life. After I broke up with John I finally made myself go into therapy, thinking that the break-up (and my general failures with dating in general) were a major part of what's bringing me down. I mean, I think that lately, most of my rage and anger comes out of romantic disappointment; why else would I still want to scratch someone's fucking eyes out every time I see them (yes, them, because it's plural)?

With my dad's illness and death, one would think that I spend most of my therapy talking about grief, etc. The truth is, I've spent more hours talking about my job that anything else. I'm not going to go into great detail because that's uncouth and such, but something must be said for spending eight hours a day feeling ten times more miserable than you do anywhere else, and on top of that feeling like you're an idiot at the same time. I told John today that I was in the mood to go cry a bathroom stall somewhere, and he replied, "You could work at the New York Times building where they have 'crying cubbies!'" But even before I could respond, he said, "But then it's expected that you would be crying."

I don't even know if therapy (or, as I call it, "my five-hundred-dollar deductible") is doing me any good, but I continue to go because it's worth a shot, right? Of course, here's the shitty thing: I have to work because I need the insurance, since therapy isn't affordable without it (especially since it's just now covering it). So basically, I need to work for the therapy, and I need the therapy to make it to work. Such is the irony of the twenty-something, depressive, professional lifestyle.

I don't think exclusively listening to Exile in Guyville is conducive to a good mood either, but I'm too excited for next week to examine that.

All Ready for Halloween: A Friday Monster Mash.

Let me get this out of the way first: My mom sent me (and my brother) the following video last night in an email with the subject line "Watch this and think of me."

It doesn't make sense. But it does make Momsense.

I responded, "I question your sense of humor."

Now. I haven't heard from the interview yet, and am hoping I hear something this afternoon. I was supposed to have another interview at Northwestern today, but I had to reschedule it for Monday because I have to go to Dave and Buster's. For work. I have to go to Adult's Chuck E Cheese so I can participate in "team-building exercises" and then drink with my co-workers. Yaaaay. (No.)

I also have a phone-screen on Monday for another job at Northwestern. A woman called from the main HR office yesterday, which surprised me because usually I get calls from the departments that are hiring new staff. At first, I expected her to say, "Please stop applying for five to six jobs here every day."

And I'm waiting for a woman to call me back and schedule an interview for another job at NU, but after talking to her on the phone yesterday I'm kind of hoping she won't, as she didn't sound very nice. That's not very promising.

And here's a direct quote from presidential hopeful John McCain on using Alan Greenspan to lead a review of the tax code:

If he's alive or dead it doesn't matter. If he's dead, just prop him up and put some dark glasses on him like, like Weekend at Bernie's.

And if that's not enough of a mind-fuck: Does Jenna Bush not suck?