I’d like to get out of this town. My verbal talents suit me for a job in the publishing area but I also have a working knowledge of accounting basics. I dislike the service industries but can tolerate public relations and work well with people; what I find difficult about the purer services is the rapid turnover in customers, i.e. the number of short encounters that demand either quick satisfaction or quick excuses to abuse the serfs.
I’ve a wide range of other experiences (baker, power metal shop, bodyguard, Forrester) which equip me to generalize and should show my ability to quickly grasp whatever is necessary. If you read this journal you know I’m given to moodiness but this is during the off-hours and has never intruded on the strictly separate sphere of my jobs. I have complete control over myself during all those moments when it is useful (that is, at any time aside from reveries during which I write) and have a reputation for ambition, intelligence, discipline, and will power. I’m open to anything: mercenary, gofer, copy-editor, janitor, gigolo, researcher, you name it, so long as you realize I intend to learn what I can and move up from where I start. I want to leave here because every element of my environment reminds me of the absence of someone I loved. No offers from any political organization will be considered.
I can relocate almost instantly, anywhere. The lower on the totem pole I start, the more opportunities for advancement I’d like to know are there. At the Center, the hierarchy is sewn up, so I’ve had to content myself with a convenient job at a semi-living wage the trade-off being time to read & write. Avant!
