So, a while back, I visited with a recruiter, who seemed mighty excited by the sad little document that is my vitae, my resume. One does suppose, afterall, that I’ve gained a bit of skill toward sundry tasks in my history of toil.

Today, he gave me the time and date of my first recruiter-fetched assignation. Sadly, there is a big ol’ slice of grant management within the particular pie.

Of course, I have mixed feelings.

But, here’s the twist — it’s on the grant-doling side, not the grant begging.

One of my voiced fantasies at the past employer’s, and I might throw out as well, unmistakably non-violent, was this: That I would be on the grant-giving side of my tormentors and devise wicked hoops for their leaping and my amusement.

(It’s actually a perfect bit of revenge for academic types. It has been my experience that they are not rule followers or manual readers, when, and inevitably it’s “when” not “if,” they think they have a better idea. So, it would be fish in a barrel to wait for their own hubris to create failure.)

Perhaps, I will get my chance at one of the world’s larger private philanthropic offices. Or, perhaps only, as my recruiter promises, it’s a chance to make some cake but not in an overly taxing environment. He promised me a little “life balance” afterall .

Worst case, is I will slip down a new and dank rabbit hole. He suggested I not go psycho. Perhaps I’ll listen.

My fallback is my new brilliant vision or awkward self-sabotage strategy. In every job interview I am experimenting with honesty and forthrightness. I figure that way no one can complain once they get what I already said I was.