I like nothing better than applying for jobs, W. notes. I like the whole process - rewriting my CV, composing a letter - it takes me weeks, W. notes, and involves massive amounts of time and IQ. You like abasing yourself, W. says. How can abase myself today?, that's the first question you ask in the morning, W. says.
On the other hand, I'm the person to whom W. turns when he has to write an application. I make him feel a sense of urgency, the sense that everything's about to end, and his life, his very life, depends upon his application. I always feel the world's about to end, that's what he likes about me, says W. I always think I'm about to be found out and shot. I always want to lick the gun barrel I think is pointed towards me, W. says, which is why I'm such a good administrator.
But this apocalypticism is the reason I've succeeded to the extent that I have, W. reflects. Whereas I'm all apocalypticism, W. says, he's all messianism: he's always full of joy and serene indifference to the world. What I suffer, he laughs at as the most extreme folly.
It's all mad, he says, the world went mad some time ago. But you take it too seriously, he says. In the end, I want only to be spoken to gently and soothingly, like a wounded animal, a dog run over at the side of the road. But that's how they talk when they're about to shoot you, W. says, and they are going to shoot you, no matter how much you lick the barrel.
Perhaps I want to be shot, W. muses. Perhaps that would be the kindest thing that could be done for me. But he has an application to write, that's why he's phoning me, he says. Give me a sense of urgency, he says. Give me a sense the world's about to end.