Brooke Hamilton / The Silhouette
Dear Job Hunting,
Thank you for consuming my reading week. It was a pleasure being woken up every morning to spend time with you. Thank you for showing me what the sunrise looks like, but I think I prefer to get my eight hours of sleep.
As I write this, you are still sending me regular e-mails under the identity of my mother. I've gotten your messages. I'm still getting your messages. My inbox is full of Craiglist postings that are in ALL CAPS and Kijiji adds that say “Make money fast now!” I would have thought there are better ways to earn money than selling window cleaning services door-to-door or insurance over the phone, but you persist.
I understand that I was not born to royalty. I understand that I am an undergraduate Humanities student. I understand that as such I am destined to constantly be on the lookout for gainful employment. And like any “mature adult” (as defined by my lovely mother), I count my blessings every day that I have the opportunity to spend time with you, Job Hunting. You are the cornerstone of capitalism. Of course, you're not as attractive as your sister, Job Having, but for now we're stuck together.
So here's hoping that this visit ends soon – that it turns out to be the kind of visit that was so short and so rewarding, you could have sworn you had fun (yeah, right).