ninanevermore

Today while I idly sipped coffee while staring into space (which is not so different from a drive into work as you might think), I was thinking that I didn't expect myself to feel this discouraged this early on. I didn't expect to feel discouraged until after my puny two-weeks pay severance pay had been posted to my account and spent. Yet here I am, feeling mopey, and I haven't even received my first unemployment check.

"With your qualifications and background, I'm sure you'll find something in no time!"

I'm already tired of hearing these words. They come right after the apologetic speech about how the person doesn't need someone like me at this particular time, despite my greatness. Ah, well, thanks for taking the time to consider me. Yes, I will keep in touch. Do tell your friends about me, so they can decide that they don't need me, either. I agree, 37 is a great age to be - well seasoned, but not yet stale. Something will surely come my way. Thanks for wishing me good luck.

On the up side, I do have more time these days to think and to write, which should make me happy. My paper journal is filling up fast, as is my poetry notebook. Those two books are used to a once-weekly ration from me, and they are thrilled to grow fat with words almost every day this past week and a half. The time that I spend online these days is on job sites and sending out emails for advertised positions. After that, I'm usually so sick at looking at a computer screen that the last thing I want to do is post a blog entry.

Nevertheless, I have to get back in the habit, because I keep writing them in my head (mostly while I'm in the shower) and they need someplace to go. So I'm going to make an effort to do better after today.

I have to start telling the stories overflowing from my head before they tear a hole in my skull as they claw to get out. I am that full of stories. Stories about Jeff's scandalous grandmother and his father's tragic first wife. Stories about my friend Joy, and even some additional stories about the notorious Patty (from whom my unemployed status must stay a secret, lest she show up and want to hang out). I have stories to tell about my son, who is mastering the use of language at lighting speed. Just to name a few.

After all, that's why I have a storytelling blog - to give these stories some place to go. If I don't write these things down, they may as well have never happened. Too many wonderful and interesting things have transpired in the world around me, and it would be a sin to let these stories dissipate with time, like so much smoke.

Which brings up the real problem with my job search, and why it is bringing me down. What I do for a living, every job on that resume of mine, has nothing to do with what I am and what I love. I am a storytelling and a poet - two things that I don't know how to make a living at. I freeze at the idea. The thought of making a living doing something that gives me joy in addition to a paycheck strikes me as too decadent to consider. Not to mention, I have no clue how to go about it.

No, I work to live and to get by, but I write to feel alive. It's best to keep these things separate. It's a curse, this unrequited love I have for the written word, but I only know how to live in a cursed world. If the written word were to love me back, it would throw my whole universe out of balance.

If I get to come back in another life and have a God-given gift, I hope it won't have anything to do with the writing. Instead, I want to come back as a talented, driven investment banker. The world can always use more of those guys, and they make a lot of money, which is something I really crave.

I know that money can't buy happiness, but it sure can make you comfortable in your misery, and I sure do like being comfortable.

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