Go week, go.

It's done.  The offer letter has been signed, sealed and returned.  In one month, Grouchy becomes the intrepid reporter. Till then, she's so jobless, she is painting her nails a new colour everyday.

Yeah,  I know. If I'm going to continue writing these one liners, I should just maybe convert to Twitter or something.  But here's the thing - I don't know what to say.  

Okay, so yes, I got the job. But it sucks. Because I'm not proud or particularly even happy about it, you know? How can you be, when your best friends and roomies and classmates are still without jobs? No one seems to remember that it's still early days yet and they'll all be placed eventually! So, for now, we are still the enemy.

I get the antagonism. I do.  I didn't even try for the job. F***, I didn't even want it. I took it because it was  handed to me on a platter. Maybe that's what makes it so much worse, that it was so easy for me and that I didn't even care enough either way, when so many more who genuinely wanted, cared and worked it, didn't get it. 

J is a boiling cauldron now. Every few hours, tests are written, names called, interviews given. Then the lists come and faces fall.  For every fifteen happy ones, there are a hundred and fifty disappointed ones.  Amongst these, we walk.  Apologetically, sheepishly and carefully.  Not knowing what we can say that will not sound  offensive, piteous or condescending.  

Two days and I already hate it.  Being on the outside looking in. I need everyone to get placed, ASAP! Then at least, friends can be friends again.  

Until then, I go underground and hide.  

Peace out.