Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been 88 business days since my last full-time job.
But I’m wearing my boyfriend’s bathrobe at 2 p.m., so you probably gathered that.
How can I atone for the mixing bowl of off-brand, sugar cereal I shoveled into my mouth while writing cover letters to fitness brands?
What will it take to absolve me of the 36, pants-free mornings I’ve watched Kelly Ripa waste away in HD? Please bless her with a turkey sandwich.
And, Dear God, how can I possibly redeem my soul after responding to a Big Pharma recruiter? In my defense, I hadn’t taken my Lexapro yet.
I did attend a two-hour, state-mandated “Career Search” course in order to qualify for unemployment. Multiple pamphlets suggested I look for a job through MSN.com. Isn’t that punishment enough?
I’ll hail Mary and a 4X Uber if it means I can escape the surprise pity party people throw for me at every social event.
Only say the word, and I shall at least pretend to read the Craigslist job postings my well-meaning mother forwards me. Are you sure she’s not Jewish? Give Moses a buzz, and get back to me.
If you need me to repent for trespassing on hundreds of people’s LinkedIn profiles, I will. But, last I checked, being creepy wasn’t a sin. After all, Steve Buscemi seems to be doing just fine.
Yes. I’ve done a lot I’m not proud of. But desperate times call for desperate prayers that a writer at your favorite company contracts a non-fatal illness which forces her to relinquish her keyboard to you. Maybe acute Carpal Tunnel? Just until I get the job offer? ‘Miracles’ aren’t part of my marketable skill set, so I’ll delegate the specifics to you.
Ok. I need to meet a friend’s yoga instructor’s college roommate who once interned at a company I’m interested in, so I’ll let you go. Plus, you probably need to get back to clearing things up with the Westboro Baptist Church. Unless you actually do hate Dumbledore. I wouldn’t blame you. Beard envy can be rough.
Bottom line, please find it in your infinite heart to forgive me. I’ve already received four rejections from recruiters who can’t even spell my name correctly. I certainly can’t stomach one from heaven.
In the Name of this Author, the Above Puns, and the Holy Dark Roast I just Spilled on My Boyfriend’s Rug.