I resent Halloween: it’s so close to my birthday that I long ago gave up trying to compete with all the parties going on then.

I don’t announce my exact birthdate; that way I tell myself I’ll be less disappointed when no one remembers it. It doesn’t work, really. I’m not fond of cake; I’m tempted to throw things if someone threatens to sing at me – but I do wish someone other than immediate family would give me a drink and a kiss. It’s worse than average this year because I’m between jobs and therefore there’s little to distract me from my solitude.

That said, my stepsiblings have invited me to get drunk this evening (which is not necessarily the nominal date of this post), and I think I’ll take them up on it.

Have I mentioned lately that I hate applying for jobs?

They ask you to send a résumé. Then once they have it, they call you back and ask, “So what kind of position are you looking for?” because somehow their eyes skipped over where it says at the top seeking employment as a framistan operator. (I suppose that’s natural, since everyone knows a well-brought-up résumé says only that which can safely be ignored, like seeking a challenging position in a fast-paced environment where I can apply my superior organizational skills.) So you recite the gist of what’s under their nose, and make an appointment to spend half an hour copying the same data, by hand, onto another set of forms.

And then, if it’s an agency, they call you back to say you’re in luck, you have an interview . . . and be sure to arrive a little early, because there’s another set of forms to fill out.

Can anyone go through this a dozen times and remain sane?

You’d think the HR industry would settle on a standard form so you can copy the repetitive parts. But maybe the process is designed to spot those who’ll snap.

sigh. In my thirtieth month without regular employment, the landlady is getting increasingly impatient. What the hell am I going to do?

Hey Bill, whoever you are, thanks for watching.

I’m not gonna bore my readers by moaning about depression and solitude. I’m not . . . .

Had a job interview today. Filled out yet another tedious application, waited another ten minutes, and quickly learned that what they want ain’t me.

I get so tired sometimes.

Damn. I was doing so well.