failure

It probably goes without saying that I didn't get the job. And I'm really trying to not feel like the biggest fucking loser ever, but it's hard. I mean, I've worked there for almost 3 years and they hired someone who recently graduated. Which means, despite working for 3 years, I still don't have enough experience to work where I already work.

Last night I met my friend for a quick dinner and, during a story about being in my hometown bar and summing up why it was for the best that we didn't run into the trouble the place is known for, he mentioned that it was best for everyone that I didn't need to react because he knows I would. So... I'm extremely reactive. And this isn't a big surprise to me, but it still stings when other people point it out because it is incredibly hard to not react.

Which is why I haven't quit that job yet. Because I really want to. So much. I can't even tell you how much I want to quit that job. More than I want to get over my allergy to cats. But that's reactive and adults don't do shit like quit a job when they don't get hired for a better, secure job with the same company.

I've been avoiding people from that job as well. My debriefing interview was a joke; the head of the hiring committee had nothing productive to say other than that I need more experience. Then she sent me an email that said I should "pretty up" my resume and join the professional association to meet people and start a personal blog.

Typing that makes me want to slam my head against the wall repeatedly until that sounds like good advice. It's like she never looked at my resume.

Talking about it with people from that workplace won't do anything but make me feel worse. Oh, you think I deserved that job? Me too. You can't believe they chose someone who started grad school after I graduated? I'm with you on that one. You wish I had gotten the job? That's... great. I didn't get the job and now I can never get away from that because people will remind me constantly that I didn't get the job. Yay.

So... already being prone to beating myself up (because my brain constantly tells me I'm not good enough), it's kicked into HIGH GEAR with this. I am just a warm body that fills in when the real important people need breaks. I'm a blowup doll in the passenger seat so you can drive in the HOV lane. I'm the discardable paper balled up in the toe of a shoe until a foot goes in. I'm just an auxiliary librarian, now and forever.