Or, as it feels to me right now, the art of defined insanity. Referring, of course, to that oft-misattributed definition of the term as repeating the same thing and expecting different results.

I’ve been on the job hunt for over a year now, doing what I can to scrape by (I’ve gotten very good at that) while chopping through the brush that is the never-ending slew of applications. Some of them bogus, some of them legitimate; all of them dead-ends thus far. By now I’ve likely sent out over three thousand applications (though I admit, over two thousand of those are the one-click options present on sites such as LinkedIn and Dice.com and worth little more than a Facebook ‘Like.’)

Every human being that’s looked at my resume has said it’s solid, and about the best I can put together with my level of experience and skillset. I’ve been keeping my web presence up-to-date, and the volunteer work I do in my spare time is starting to accumulate experience of a meaningful amount. I know that I am able to execute the duties of the positions I apply to. And yet, I’m lucky if I ever get a callback, let alone an actual interview. To date, I have nailed every interview I’ve had—all three of them.

So we’re looking at a 1000:1 ratio of applying and getting an interview. Mind you, these aren’t all associate-level grant writer or documentation specialist roles; they’re those yes, but also podunk positions—I’m talking your $14/hr up glorified human robot jobs. Helpdesk is a step up (and also, based on applications thus far, equally likely for me to get into.)

I acknowledge that I’ve made it harder on myself by restricting myself to either remote or city-local roles, but that is unfortunately a restriction I have to maintain until the end of the year. However, it’s the only restriction now. A few days ago I found out that a position that I actually had interviewed for, been accepted for, been onboarded for, and been all but ready to start for is actually ‘on hold.’ I had already told people I got the job, because that’s what I had been told. In quite plain terms, by the interviewer themselves—who was also the head of the department I’d be working in.

So, that came and went, and now I’m even applying to roles I find detestable. Collections agents being a prime example. Were it not for being beaten down by a year plus’ of bum applications, I don’t think I could stomach the notion. It’s also not helpful to my problem of needing more experience, but that’s Step 1. I’m still on Step 0.

I also have to say, while I know I’m not alone in this—Lord knows that I have both friends and classmates who are struggling as much, and even more than I—the same can’t be said for family. Suffice it to say that my side of the family is the poor one, both in connections and wealth. I have relatives who make six figures plus and living life as they please. They’ve had opportunities that I never did because of where they lived, and by the time I had the chance to live there too I was in no shape to take advantage of them for various reasons.

I don’t hold a grudge against anyone who’s had opportunities I haven’t however. I also don’t want to give the impression that these relatives ‘have it easy.’ They’ve leveraged any opportunity they got, they’ve prepared and made sure they made the most of it. I’m proud to see their successes; I just wish I had gotten the same chances they did. I don’t wish that too hard, however. This is already more rumination than I care to give to ‘what could have been.’ I have my life and I have my knowledge; I can take solace in using both to get a leg up.

So I suppose I’m insane by that definition, because here I go and there I shall go, sending out application after application while all prior evidence regardless of variable adjustments point to nothing but rejection.

Though, there’s one bright side. Now, I could walk up to Winona Ryder circa 1988 wearing nothing but a bathrobe and ask her out without batting an eye. Dating rejection is child’s play compared to my experiences in the job hunt.