Updating a resume blows. IĀ  just thought I’d put it out there. Thinking back to all you’ve done in the past year and trying to make it into a concise and organized paragraph gives me a headache. Are resumes still supposed to only be one page? I’m doing my best to make it that way.

The job market looks pretty bleak…at least that’s the conclusion I’ve come to after a search this morning of monster.com. I think it’s going to be a long few months.

Last night I was watching the Hills and Whitney went on an “interview” for Diane von Furstenberg, and even though it was completely scripted and merely a formality — because hey, didn’t you know that all it takes to do PR for a major designer is to have experience styling models and appearing on a reality show? — I still felt uneasy watching her go through the interview process.

I hate interviewing. It’s probably one of the most nerve-wracking thing I can think of. And I blame my first boss for it. Well, not blame per say, but he made it too easy for me. My first interview was more like a conversation with an old friend so Mike, to you I shake my fist! I guess it’s not too surprising that he’s no longer my boss and instead he’s a great friend.

I think another problem is that I’ve had pretty good luck in this life of mine. I’ve never really not gotten anything I wanted when it comes to my career. And now I’m anticipating a lot of no’s, a lot of closed doors. I’m also shaking my fist at this economy and at the state I live in for having the highest unemployment rate in the country right now.

I’ve been reading a book where three of the main characters are pregnant. Last night I dreamt I was too and in the dream I thought how much easier it would be to just be preggers and let the hubby go off to work each day. Clearly, my dream world did not include a mortgage or a savings account or any of the other factors that mean I still have to work…at least for now.

My plan is to dedicate one to two hours a day to the job search. It needs to be a priority, but I won’t let myself burn out on it. And I should probably stop staying up past midnight reading, or I’m going to start believing I’m living in a chic lit novel and will be severely disappointed each morning I wake up to a closet not filled with designer shoes.

Well, I wake up disappointed about that most days.

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