I went to another interview with a low chance of success (contract proposal writer for some postal firm). The woman interviewing me struck me as an odd cross between a bundle of dried sticks that've been buried under the snow and a ghoul with impeccably coiffed hair (that hair will never move, I assure you that).
Anyway, during the interview, the usual meaningless question of "what would your ideal job be?" came up and I gabbled the usual nonsense of a man with no idea of he really would like to do. Only later, after leaving, for the third time in my life I actually realized what I'd really be genuinely good at.
The realization that he would probably make a very good priest only can only leave a totally non-religious man with a sense of profound depression and utter uselessness.
I guess it's not the first time that's happened though.
Twice before, the answer to the "What would you really like to do?" question has come to me, and each time it was a similar wash. When I was much younger, I thought I would have liked to become a cop. One of those cops posted to a small town way way way to the north, where there are only two or four (or even one) cops for the whole town or region. But the police service is no place for a short, nerdly fellow, who rarely commands respect on sight. The second time it happened, I realized skills and temperament were perfect for a an explorer's job. Sadly, while this was an important occupation for most of the last several thousand years, there haven't exactly been many openings since December 14th 1911.
Oh well, I'm not dead yet. There's still time for my brain to present me with a useful idea at some point instead of taunting me. In the meantime I will chase the bad office jobs that pay better than my other non-options and wallow in my continued stupidity.
