Working Hard or Hardly Working?

I stopped setting my alarm clock days ago. After one or two days of studious job-searching, I threw myself onto my bed and sighed heartily. I turned over and stared up at the ceiling, coming to terms with a very solid fact: I am used to getting what I want. I hate looking for jobs, I hate not having things go according to my plans. This is a minor character flaw of mine, perhaps, but maybe it's helped to push me to strive for better and bigger things. At this moment, stuck in the double bed and not moving anytime soon, I want things to be a lot easier than they are. Where are the work visas that were supposed to rain from the sky upon completion of my CELTA course? Cathy fares a thousand times better, being a British citizen and a snazzy teacher. The second day of her search she lands an interview at a prestigious academy, three days later she's hired by another prestigious academy, our very own International House. Our mole, our delightful CELTA professor Neil, told her to turn in her CV and he'd sprinkle fairy dust on everyone to get her way. Poof! She's hired! No amount of fairy dust can give me access to that, though: although from top to bottom International House sings my praises, no one is willing to hire a work paper-less American. I turn over on the bed and decide to go looking for more jobs tomorrow. Or the next day.