When last we checked in with our fearful hero, he was forging a half-assed New Year’s resolution that he thought would take six months to complete. He was captioning television programs and about a month away from doing it live, for real, when it counted. Two months later, he’s entrenched in the world of technical writing. He’s about ready to take a big step and move out on his own, without the aid of a school residential housing system. He’s trying to learn more about people. And he’s still writing, still pursuing his dreams. So, what happened?
Let’s assume I’ll live for seventy-five years, a safe assumption, average life span. The first third of my life ended when I was admitted to the bar on December thirteenth. At what cost this legal training? At least it provided a nice dovetail to my childhood. Now begins phase two of my childhood, or as we like to call it by it’s proper name, “middle-age.”
Middle-aged people have bills to pay. So it was when I decided that I had to make more money, but was not yet ready to give in to the hell of the legal profession. I told myself all throughout the run up to the new year that it was time to get a new job, so I could actually support myself without exhausting my savings, or myself. I’d started to get an idea of what types of jobs I wanted to apply for, when E.B. asked if I wanted to become a technical writer at L.M. He had assumed that me, as a lawyer, would not be interested in plumbing the depths of documentation. What he did not count on was my view that this would be a step up from plumbing the depths of statutes. I e-mailed him my resume and left for work. He later told me that he handed the resume to I.S., the hiring supervisor, who stated something to the effect of “Interesting, this might work out.”
I’d arrived at work for a few hours when I received a phone call, source listed as “No Number.” Peculiar. I answer, and lo and behold, it is I.S., asking me if I can come in for an interview. Like a fool, I say I’m game, what time? He says he is free from ten in the morning until four in the afternoon. Without much thought (I am somewhat shocked), I say half past ten. Now, keep in mind that only three hours have elapsed since I first talked to E.B. January third.
I tell him later what’s going on, and he recommends I learn right quick about what the job required, based on the solicitation. Due to the nature of the division, ratherh than ask fora technical writer, they were forced to solicit for a systems engineer. Yes, a systems engineer. A person that engineers systems. Yes, I’m a systems engineer. For a living.
This takes place around ten at night. A little later, I receive an e-mail that asks if I could fill out several forms and bring them in tomorrow. You know, because things like the actual job application are necessary for application to a job. I figure this would be no big deal. Just fill it out, learn about the systems engineering, get six hours of sleep, get going. Ah, optimistic K.T., how little you realize, you naive fool. Once I finished all that, it was around two in the morning, so six hours wasn’t out of the question. However, I was so nervous that I couldn’t sleep. Not until five in the morning. Scenarios of doom and gloom kept running through my head. By the time I left, I was exhausted, wired, caffeinated, and unable to remember what was going on, or what I had studied.
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