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I always hated the anxiety of the job-search process and everything related to it. The desperate need to show yourself from the best angle and in the best light. The frustration of the idiotic matching game the headhunters invented to wipe out any type of intuition and sensibility from the hiring process: the formal laundry list of clients’ needs vs. whatever skills they discerned from your application – like a fucking robot – check, check, check… The full-body adrenaline poisoning inflicted by every interview, even the ones conducted on the phone. The rising hopes, the bitter disillusionments. And again, and again, and again. Worst of all, the constant fear of ending up with no means to exist and to support.

  I Built This Prison, p. 35