In the past 6 weeks, my CV (résumé to the US citizens) has been sent I don't know how many times to people in the UK, and triple that amount to people in the US - not that I'm picky, it's just that a lot more positions are advertised in the US. None for a translator though. Not that many in Canada or Ireland. None AT ALL from South Africa or Australia, people. None.
Yesterday, I sent my CV again, because I'm nothing if not persistent, as a "spontaneous" application this time. To someone in Paris, but hey, sometimes, a change of heart is advisable. Or justified. Not that I need to justify my very many changes of hearts, because you've all learned to take them with a grain of salt (a pinch would be a waste), plus it would take a longer time than I care to sacrifice. Not that I don't have plenty of time on my hands these days. But maybe you haven't.
To the point. This organisation that I'm sending it to might, in time, if they consider my application in the first place and actually decide to hire me in the second place, take me on to greater things. Or maybe not greater, but more to my liking. I could go on like this forever, trying to explain the words I choose to use or the words I'm using for lack of better ones, but really, who cares? Anyway. We'll see, eh?
Bizarre. I just (and I mean just, as in a zillionth of a second ago) had an idea for a post the likes of which you've seen plenty of but that I write so well (yes, I do, and I have the comments to prove it, shush), and zoom, just like that, I've lost it. The idea, not my mind. My mind, if you recall, was lost a good 31 years ago now. Yes, apparently, I wasn't born that way. Everybody thought I'd be unremarkable in many ways (and that's not self-deprecating, that's just saying that people wouldn't notice me, which I kind of miss, and that's negative - this, on second reading, is not very clear: I miss not being noticed, I don't miss being noticed, I am noticed. Not that I would mind not being noticed, but it just doesn't happen. Clearer, now, eh?), but lo and behold, here I am, mad as a cow (and aren't I proving it every friggin' second?) and not the most discreet being you were ever forced to set eyes upon. Oh well. So everybody had to give in to the evidence: I wasn't like everyone else. And there were plenty of evidence, like the time I broke up with my first boyfriend (I was 5 or 6) because he didn't believe in Father Christmas and I'd seen said Father Christmas barely two weeks before at a department store, so that story ended in tears (I had started by typing "two weeks ago", and that would have taken the cake, eh. Who in their right mind spots Father Christmas in August? Not many people, that's who). Of course the break-up didn't help my mental... situation. And then I had the biggest crush on a colleague of my dad's. The man had a huge moustache, for goodness sake. And I was 6 if I was a day. If that doesn't scream "mad! mad! mad!", I don't know what does.
Actually, were it not for the mood swings, I'd kind of like being mad.