to muffinbutt
I don't know if this will make your day any better, but The Decemberists's third album, "The Crane Wife," is out today, and if you want any song uploads, they're yours.
And I don't know if this will make you feel any better, or if it will merely make you feel wretched, in the way that this thoughtless compliment prompted setissma to write a journal entry explaining exactly how she was none of the things I thought she was, but. Now that that has happened, I am trying to be somewhat more guarded about my statements about other people. Even so, every time I think of the world awaiting me after college, I am terrified.
I wish I were spunkier, and more literate, and easier to get along with, all of which are ideal life qualities but also pretty marketable ones, too, if you pair them with a seriousness of purpose and a sharp mind. I wish I had the talent to land a position and hold it down for any number of days, but when I compare myself to my classmates, it seems unlikely, especially if the work involves any amount of daily contact with people. I can't even imagine attending a job interview without losing my shit completely; my preoccupation with my speech and appearance is such that off-the-cuff voice posts and photographs or even trips down the street to buy stamps are out of the question.
On the lower days, when surfing my flist and putting two and two together, I think, "I wish I were setissma, or coldcoffeeeyes, or muffinbutt."
Probably this is the type of self-indulgent comment that doesn't really answer any greater questions ("Why did it happen?," "So what do I do now?", and so forth), but from what little I know about you, your former employers are the ones who are missing out right now, the suckers.
As regards the secretary question, the world needs minds like yours pretty badly, and it isn't for organizing goddamn file cabinets.
(Although maybe you could give it a shot for NaNoWriMo.)