Monday, July 13, 2009

Where the hell did I put those rose-tinted glasses anyways?

So, I suppose it's safe to say that the whole job-hunting thing here makes me anxious a bit, and stressed definitely. I have never been without a job for more than two days since I began my working life, and often I've held more than one job at the same time.

I had to send off a letter today to a temp agency here who had a posting through the government-job-administration-thing (The Forem) just to say that I was already registered with them, and that I'm interested in and qualified for this particular job I'd seen on offer. Boyfriend was home for lunch and I asked him to look over the French, and when he wanted to change something I suppose I wanted to know why a little too anxiously for him. According to him, I freaked out. According to me, I think that the voice of what I was trying to say in my note was being changed a little more than I'd hoped by my boyfriend taking over my keyboard. So something along the lines of me asking why a particular part needed to be changed happened, and then "Because your french is bad" was the response.

Boyfriend has noticed that it seems that parts of what people say stand out to me and stick in my memory. Words not carefully chosen definitely do have a more profound impact on me, like the verbal equivalent of someone slapping you in the face. This is why I've tried to develop a habit of choosing my words carefully, so as not to do this to others, and this ("your french is bad") would sadly be one of those things that has made a bit of a dent in my psyche. Either I'm being some poor suck of a little girl who is hurt by what is probably very much the truth, or that just wasn't a very fair or motivating thing to say. Or maybe both are true. I just know that I feel kind of deflated. This place and all the stuff in it just seems to like to kick me in the gut when I'm already in a vulnerable state. The more it happens, the more I wonder "what am I really doing here?"

In other news, we ate moules et frites last night. And then I woke up feeling horrible a few hours later and threw up. It may have been the mussels, or perhaps that combined with the fact that I already wasn't feeling stellar. I must say that this particular dish has to be the worst one to throw up, at least that I've ever experienced. I've tried over the past few years, to give mussels a second chance at being on that list of stuff I'll eat, but after last night I think they just got blacklisted for good.

And now it's time to go and call a guy about a job making waffles. He called me this morning while I was dying in bed, and left me a message (thankfully) saying he was interested to set up a rendez-vous after seeing my CV. So now I'm off to dazzle him with my amaaaaazing language skills.

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