Okay, I’ve stewed enough in my own juices. It was the headache brought on by squinting at the fill-in forms on the job-search websites and the fact that I keep having to admit that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
When you live in a place for 7.5 years, and you walk the walk and talk the talk, you might be quite naturally forgiven for thinking that you are 100% assimilated and that you blend in like the blendiest of blenders. I was practically BORN here, if you know what I mean. But then shock, caped and masked, comes along and with a yank, pulls the tablecloth out from under your dishes and when the spinning settles you realize that you’re not sure what restaurant you’re in.
Ha! How was THAT for a fucked-up metaphor?
Because I never had to seriously job hunt in Sweden, I’ve discovered the following things about my Swedish: I don’t know the technical terms for many job-related things, many more than I suspected, when I’m trying to translate from English to Swedish, although if I saw them in Swedish first it wouldn’t be a problem. I don’t know what my degree translates to in the Swedish system. I write like an advanced 10-year-old (well, maybe it’s a little better than that, but not much). suck
Edited to Add That People Are SO Nice: I just had a call from an AWC member who gave me a lead on a possible job, after reading my news on our club’s message board.
Bonus Point Answer: The Sure Thing