Friends, family, dogs, cats, and innocent bystanders.
The time has come for me, Humans Are Weird, aka Rob Pop, to find a job.
I’ve been avoiding this job-hunting business for as long as possible. Why? Cause I’m a writer. I already have a job; I write books. The issue of course is that I don’t get paid for it. Not yet, at least. And so, consequently, given that my savings are drying up quicker than a nun’s vagina rapidly, I’ve to find a way to support my self’s life.
During my time at university, I worked at fashion retail stores to get by. I’ve always liked fashion, and found the idea of spending 15-20 hours a week selling expensively woven threads to disgruntled shoppers quite entertaining.
Now that I’ve graduated though, the idea of working in retail doesn’t sit so well with me.
It’s not because now that I’ve graduated, I think I’m above it. That sort of supercilious attitude ain’t for me. Rather, it’s because back then, when I traversed the corridors of law school, I had no idea what I enjoyed doing with my time. (Aside from going out every night, drinking myself silly, and trying my luck with the ladies. Which isn’t going to put food on the table or pay my bills. Unless I find myself a sugar momma, which is unlikely).
Now though, I know exactly what it is that I want to do: Write.
Thusly, if I were to look for work in a retail store, I’d feel as if I were wasting my time. My brain isn’t very practical, as you might already know. It doesn’t say: “Hey. I need to do this to live. Working is necessary to put food on my table. It’s just the world we live in. You work, make money, buy life’s necessities, and use your spare time to do the things you love.”
Nope. My brain is really narrow-minded when it comes to things like this. It follows its own dreams, and doesn’t allow me a say in the matter. It does what it wants to do.
And it, that uncompromising little fucker of a brain, wants to write.
Fortunately, there is a bright light illuminating the end of this proverbial tunnel.
Lo and behold, I’ve found a solution to my dilemma. A rather simple solution that I never even considered up until a few days ago.
The solution: Find a writing job.
As it turns out, there are plenty (a small handful) of these positions going around. Businesses – specifically, advertising businesses – hire people to write articles for their clients.
Who’d have thought?
Anyway. This is where your help comes in, my kind, and brilliantly beautiful, fellow bloggers.
I’m going to use this blog as a sort of portfolio to showcase my work. I figure that if I write a post entitled “the Job Hunt,” future employers (hello, friends. Please excuse the lewd language). might read it.
And so, what I’m asking is that if you’ve been following my blog for a while, or even a little while, and you’ve enjoyed my writings in some capacity, then please, I beg of you, leave a little comment, outlining how greatly you’ve appreciated my written rants, and obscure thoughts.
Don’t hold back, either. Be liberal and overindulgent in your praise. You know. Lay it on me like you would lay it on your celebrity crush.
Think of it as a charity comment.
You, donating 0.0001% of your day’s time to help out a struggling writer.
Unfortunately, kind praise isn’t tax deductible. But if you’re religious, or believe in some sort of supernatural afterlife, I’m sure that your heavenly creator will reward you generously in the Yonder for your deed. If you believe in karma, who knows, your repayment might flow in this lifetime. Perhaps next week or something. Maybe your favourite box of chocolates will go on sale at your local supermarket? Wouldn’t that be splendiferous!
I don’t know. Whatever. Point is, your kind words will be greatly appreciated. (As they always are). And I love you all.
That’s all. Thanking you in advance for your pulchritudinous (I’m using big words to show that I smart is) generosity.
About Humans Are WeirdI live life on the edge. Because I'm constantly anxious. I'm following my dreams. Because they're so overbearing. I live life out of my comfort zone. Because I'm always uncomfortable. And so I write to express. I read to escape. And I'm eccentric because I know not another way. Namaste. And now must go. Huzzah.
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