Lately I’ve been trying to decide which I like better: The form rejection letter or the non-response.

The non-response, at least, lets me wonder if perhaps it slipped into a spam folder, or was otherwise gobbled up by the Internet. A ballsier person than myself might even send a follow-up, politely asking if my sparkling resume had been received (this follow-up would probably also plummet into the long Internet abyss of “what if”). Logically, they did see it, and decided my skillz weren’t even worth the five seconds it sends to paste in a form rejection. Which, on paper, is more offensive than the actual form rejection itself.

The problem with a form rejection is that it is a rejection. Non-responses still allow you the dignity of fantasizing: “They’d hire me if they saw it.” (Yeah, and maybe that cute guy will call you tomorrow.)

Form rejections say, “Nope, you ain’t for us.” This is akin to the “I don’t think we’re a good match” speech.

In case I’m not being transparent enough, I woke up to a nice little rejection in my inbox. It was for a content mill — just me trying to throw more eggs in the basket — and I appreciate them taking the time to reject me. Still, I kind of like what-ifs.

In the meantime, my Internet is acting up, I have an obnoxious recruiter text messaging me (is this my reward for posting on LinkedIn? Awesome), and I have to ask my doctor for generic acne medication.

In case anyone’s wondering, the going rate for clear skin these days is $410, without insurance.

Still, waking up without oozing pustules is priceless.