Took long enough. Being unemployed for 10 months is no small success. It’s dry, barren, and reminds me of a sickly pineapple under a tree. Just fading. Waiting to be nibbled on, but rotting instead. But after 10 months (a pineapple would totally be dead at this point), I got a job. And boy, is it surreal. I think I’ve applied to 250 jobs at this point, six interviews, all NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT YOU. Okay, maybe not with that kind of repulsion, but getting your hopes up six different times really begins to wear you out. Disappointment is a bitch, if I don’t say so myself. But it all worked out in the end, because even though I couldn’t attend car mechanics’ school and even though I couldn’t get a job in mental health, I got a job writing (what?! My degree’s not a bust?!) in the car industry. So I guess I hit two birds with one stone, right? I mean, hands down I’m happy as a bunny with a carrot on a motorcycle, but I’ll tell you something: I don’t really believe it yet. That I have a job? Ridiculous. After so many no’s? Can’t be. But then I think really hard and I know that for once, I’ve been blessed. And boy, I really can’t take that back.