A good start (?)
The first job interview is, despite the possibility of being recalled are zero, consider a good start. Agaetis Byrjun . Tomorrow I have another one, for the use of which I do not know, however, the nature and details. On the phone I nodded, though nobody could see me, pinning on a sheet of paper and time for the address, though I escaped with whom. I'll have to ask to Laetitia, and that is something positive for me.
How did I get here? A week of Internet searches, job hunting, paradoxically consulted during the lunch break at work I already have. It was an ending predictable, expected, but still so contradictory to think about it. Ads from fifteen to which I replied, I still got two races, one of which, however, without hope. But you gotta start. And so I put that wearing pants and shirt at the embassy for stationery and birth, where the brain trust that I shall, two men and a woman, or maybe three women, he realized early on that I have no experience. Just look at their curriculum, they could also give the bottom of the first call. But that's okay. There is however a sense of departure.
How did I get here? The folly of his departure for Paris for an internship that I have almost come to boredom, made almost exclusively for the glory, the glory that no one will take into consideration, or actually did it just to escape asphyxiation Italian, and return to me more suitable land in Paris, was a crowd without cover, but without sufficient funds grant. And it's time for me of the bohème, brought sandwiches to work while the others go to the canteen, which has become suddenly too expensive for me, the time of the waiver to the secondary, with the resulting secondary choices about what is and what prime time to look for a job seriously, as if 35 hours per week were not sufficient. So I navigate between ads for babysitting and for use in store, for waiters and interviewers, to Italian delis and ice cream. Working to fill those odd moments that I still remain, and afford another job, for more full-time, made free.
To be a rookie of the labor market, a lack of experience from small jobs are being dropped because he never made, even beginning to be tired of this constant work at all for the glory, a curriculum that in Italy I've earned the right proposal to work as a waiter in Autogrill, but only if you have a car.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
What Does Masterbate Mean
Depression Saturday Night
23/02
Strange this Saturday started late after a long sleep, almost hard to leave, as if the dream attracts me most of reality, even in the long-awaited weekend. You think that by working every day, arrive on Friday evening and finally let go, going to parties or concerts or whatever, expect the unexpected, the remote possibility of a surprise, something that changes the routine. Instead of the usual monsters and then you get paralyzed, incomprehensibly. If the monsters on Friday
loved walking, those of today were much more sedentary. All day at home, like a recluse. Self-imposed confinement, semi-proposal in my mind with the joy of others in the background to my paranoia, the joyful expectation of the other pending against my sad about something that never comes. I am unaware of the causes and effects, and the reasons for them, and even of my actions, my perfect inability to do even simple gestures, to suggest or propose. Despite almost a burning need to see new people, to know, to do. To be perhaps just a little 'more normal.
not like last year when I always had someone to call at any hour or so. I almost gave the illusion can do it, but it was also read numbers, one hundred and conoscine there will be. Now I have come back? Imprisonment, to Saturday night in front of the computer to do a shit, throwing away more and more these my years, enough already empty? The second weekend in a row that jet in the toilet, almost waiting for the Monday restart the work, and waiting for the other weekend.
There are days when I question the sense of it all. Going forward, back, outline projects that will not bring home or nothing, to know new people with whom, however, eventually lose contact, and then always having to start over from zero degree. For what? With no one to do so without an obsession with chasing, trying to get all the best every day and throw Instead off the most. And at home there is no wine, and its portfolio is not a penny. The hard times of a bohemian must start again and delete them in some way.
23/02
Strange this Saturday started late after a long sleep, almost hard to leave, as if the dream attracts me most of reality, even in the long-awaited weekend. You think that by working every day, arrive on Friday evening and finally let go, going to parties or concerts or whatever, expect the unexpected, the remote possibility of a surprise, something that changes the routine. Instead of the usual monsters and then you get paralyzed, incomprehensibly. If the monsters on Friday
loved walking, those of today were much more sedentary. All day at home, like a recluse. Self-imposed confinement, semi-proposal in my mind with the joy of others in the background to my paranoia, the joyful expectation of the other pending against my sad about something that never comes. I am unaware of the causes and effects, and the reasons for them, and even of my actions, my perfect inability to do even simple gestures, to suggest or propose. Despite almost a burning need to see new people, to know, to do. To be perhaps just a little 'more normal.
not like last year when I always had someone to call at any hour or so. I almost gave the illusion can do it, but it was also read numbers, one hundred and conoscine there will be. Now I have come back? Imprisonment, to Saturday night in front of the computer to do a shit, throwing away more and more these my years, enough already empty? The second weekend in a row that jet in the toilet, almost waiting for the Monday restart the work, and waiting for the other weekend.
There are days when I question the sense of it all. Going forward, back, outline projects that will not bring home or nothing, to know new people with whom, however, eventually lose contact, and then always having to start over from zero degree. For what? With no one to do so without an obsession with chasing, trying to get all the best every day and throw Instead off the most. And at home there is no wine, and its portfolio is not a penny. The hard times of a bohemian must start again and delete them in some way.
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