Job-related fantasies.

There are some fantastic job openings at the MoMA right now, a few of which I'm genuinely qualified for. I wouldn't do good work as an Engineer or Lobby Manager, but put me in a room and tell me to keep track of the information, and I'm golden. Especially if I get to bring my MP3 player.

The Curatorial Assistant position looked great, since it's work I could do and be happy about, until I got to the "reading knowledge of one European language, ideally German, two preferred" part of the requirements. I'm embarassingly monolingual. I still put something together that I'll edit a few more times before sending it in, just in case.

I also told my younger brother about it, since he actually speaks German. We agreed it's a shame the museum probably won't hire both of us as a package deal, which would be awesome. The Orlove Siblings! We could even wear coordinating outfits.

It's about as likely as me running away to Northern California and opening a bakery, and just as much fun.

Status report.

I've got three stories about done, one story in need of more editing than I'd thought at first, another story in need of a second complete overhaul, and four cover letters I'm scared to look at tonight. Incidentally, if anyone has time to look at four short cover letters and tell me what I need to do in order to add some attention-getting whistles and bells, I'd be overjoyed to hear that's the case.

I know exactly why I'm in such a bad place tonight, and I hate what happens when I get here. There's really no way to innoculate myself against the feelings I get when I look at job listings and agencies and sort through them to find a few I could reasonably apply for. No wonder I had so much momentum last week - I'd just skipped this part and went right to some ongoing projects.