As a gentle reminder, this week’s structure-for-the-unstructured topic is “Regret,” to go up on Wednesday. Are we still playing along, huh, are we?
I kind of stepped on my own topic, by blogging about regrets and “in my next life” on Friday… but never fear, I’m confident I’ll come up with something adequately wordy by mid-week.
In the meantime, I’ll share with you my current employment (or lack thereof) dilemma. I had decided, with Willem’s input, to stop applying for jobs between about January and March. The plan had been to move to Massachusetts in May or June, and so it made more sense to me to put it all on hold for a bit and then start sending out applications in the area to which we were planning to relocate. Then a big, steaming, nasty pile of reality fell upon my head in two distinct plops: first the news that we weren’t going to get the mortgage we had previously been (casually) promised, and then the added bonus that we wouldn’t be able to sell our current house for much more than the mortgage. Forget things like adding in a new beroom and bathroom, the housing market has crashed to the point where all of those home repairs might allow us to just barely break even, at a significant step down from our purchase price. Fab. U. Lous.
So I started waffling a little, but hadn’t yet sent out any new resumes or even visiting job listing sites yet. And out of the blue, I got a direct email from a company in Maine. They oversee foster care throughout the state, and had advertised a position back in December, for which I had applied. I’d been assigned an interview date, but then had to cancel once because of weather and then again when one of the kids got sick. I figured, bailing out on the interview twice meant I had destroyed my chances at the job, and I mentally wrote it off; especially because I knew they were interviewing two other people for the same position (because they accidentally cc’ed one email, instead of bcc’ing).
And then, last week, I get this email, asking if I was still willing to interview. The position is still open, but the downside is that they’re so understaffed right now that they can’t travel part way to conduct the interview. If I want to interview, I have to drive all the way up to Bangor; this is about a 4-hour drive. One way.
It seems a little excessive for a maybe sort of thing, but on the other hand, it certainly demonstrates my willingness to (literally) go the extra mile, doesn’t it? And, why not? The kids can spend the day at L’s apartment, so I don’t need to worry about them, and I’ve been working on Gretchen or my dad to come along and keep me company in the car (because, really, who doesn’t want to spend all day in the car just for the sheer joy of my company?). It’ll work out fine.
Except. The woman with whom I’ve been corresponding, also named Kate and with the same initials I had before I got married, asked me to start the process of getting licensed as a mental health counselor in Maine. Sure, no problem; it’s a bit pricey – just under $200 when all of the fees are added in – but again, if it results in a job, it will have been worth it.
But the licensure application requires that I include the name and signature of the person that will be providing me with the necessary level of supervision to move from “conditional” licensure to “actually really all-the-way” licensure. (I think they call it something else, though.)
Are you seeing the dilemma here? I can’t fill out the application without a supervisor’s name, but I’m supposed to have completed the application before I attend the interview.
Nothing like a little early-morning complication on a Monday. Particularly a Monday in which every major office except those in the State of New Hampshire is closed, making it difficult to make any phone calls. Well, to get the phone calls answered, specifically. I can make calls until my fingers fall off, I just can’t get them to be picked up by a human being on the other end.
So, we’ll see. Of course I’m getting my hopes up too much, and setting myself up for yet another disappointment. That has become a particularly well-hone skill of mine, since entering into the delightful world of unemployment.