The Romanticism of Rainy Days
It’s Friday night and I have no sexy plans.
I had Round 2 of my job interview last Tuesday. The recruiter called me on Thursday which made me feel optimistic as I would have expected a rejection email. Alas, it turns out they’ve selected their finalist candidate already, and so I didn’t get the job. I felt really shitty about myself.
Flora, when you messaged me t ask how the interview went, I was a sniveling mess. Hearing from you helped me pick myself up and climb out of bed, a faint ray of self-compassion finding its way into my life, but it didn’t last long
The hope of a job had propelled me to start going to the gym again — and admittedly, lifting weights and being taught how to keep proper form is a real picker upper. Beats eating a whole pizza sitting in your car in the parking lot — because that’s usually my coping mechanism. The hardest part is to keep myself from tumbling back into despair.
When everything seems beyond hopeless, writing to the three of you makes me feel just a little better. Knowing that we’re on this journey together. Searching for meaning in our early thirties.
Time seems to sprawl ahead and some moments of everyday I feel as though I’m wasting my life away — where is my inner worth?