As you may or may not know, loyal readers, I'm looking for a job again. And since I'm trying to switch careers already (a novel feat, considering I've yet to hold a full-time job for more than four months) most of my previous job experience is entirely irrelevant. This, then, is how I find myself marching around MIT's uncomfortably hot Johnson Athletic Center in uncomfortably stiff dress shoes and an uncomfortably woolen suit. Not that the experience is novel. I'm almost positive I've yet to miss an MIT career fair. This career fair, however, is different. At this career fair, I'm wearing the stinky cologne of desperation.
Well, it's not that bad. It looks like I won't have much trouble getting a job in investment trading, and those positions not only pay well but also give me a chance to learn about a wide variety of investment products and methods. And if that doesn't sound exciting, I really don't know what does. So far, however, it looks like they'd ask me to relocate to New York, Chicago, or D.C. And as much as those jobs aren't my first choices, they're a lot better than sleeping on my friends' couch while sending out resumés and making phone calls.
Which brings me to the real source of desperation, honestly: I want to get off my borrowed couch and have a home. It's stressful enough to be living out of my car, but I feel even worse cluttering up Tony, Tony, Brian, Bryan, Greg and Magellan's living room. Wherever I end up, I'd like to end up there now, please.
But things are looking nowhere but up, happily. And I think I got all the angst out of my system, so you shouldn't be hearing any more of this from me.
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