The Wait Weight

A blinking cursor. That’s what life feels like lately. This impatient, foot tapping sliver that asks what exactly it is that I want. Waiting. Tick…tick….tick.

Well cursor, don’t you think I’d write something if I knew what I wanted to say? Better yet, don’t you think I’m editing and stifling the crap out of myself because if I sound whiny in my head, what will it look like on paper? I guess we’ll find that out together won’t we, cursor?

Things are not so great right now. I mean, relatively they’re pretty great I guess, but relatively they also suck. I have a roof over my head, warm blankets for these crisp fall nights, electricity, running water, food, Spotify, a coffee maker and supply of beans, allergy medicine, dry socks, Doctor Who Yahtzee, really good cold beers in the fridge, a fridge, a good fella, family nearby, some friends, a scooter… ok fine, it’s certainly not all bad. But what I do not have right now, is work. I don’t have the money, security, routine, or the schedule that comes with a job. Or the satisfaction of a task well done, or satisfied bosses and co-workers. I have instead, a critical inner voice and the constant wonder that asks, “what am I doing wrong?”

Last night while expressing this frustration to Dylan (again) he tried to encourage me by saying that tried and true method of back pat, the it’s-their-loss-they-haven’t-hired-you motivational speech. While that is sweet and well-intentioned, I’m not sure how true it is. If I send out 30 resumes and not one inquiry comes my way, mathematically and logically, that can’t all be because of them. What is going wrong? I’m signed up with three placement agencies, all who said I was surely highly desirable, and none have come through so far.  Does my resume fall flat? Is it too all over the place? Do I have something in my teeth? What IS it? For the love of God, tell me.

The irony of depression is that it renders us completely unmotivated and sedentary but the best battle against it, hilariously, is to get up and do something. Why, right now as we speak I’m supposed to be doing some filing and instead, I’m laying in bed, listening to Bjork, dicking around on the internet and writing this. Little setbacks that would normally be tiny bumps in the road are instead more like boulders that set me a mile behind rather than sideline me a few feet. My mood is frequently sour and frankly, I’m glad Dylan has a job so he doesn’t have to be around me in this state. We made waffles and bacon for lunch, like eight pieces of thick-cut, really good bacon, and I was still a mopey jerk. I’m getting out tonight to watch movies at my best friend’s house which will involve a scooter ride and some beers, some apple pie, and a small handful of friends. It’ll be great I’m sure, but right now all I feel like doing is finishing this post, closing the laptop and sleeping for the next three hours until it’s time to leave.

Aaaaand right as I finished that paragraph, Dylan’s boss called to say that they’re cutting his hours back because the company isn’t making enough money to justify paying the workers when the boss can work half of each shift himself (rookie mistake, Dylan’s wisely going to keep looking elsewhere). I did just receive a phone call from one of the placement agencies regarding a position that can start on Monday. It’s temp-to-perm and they’re going to keep looking to hire outside, but I would fill the gap until then unless it is me they choose. So that’s something, which is good news. However, that process began at 3:30 and it is now 5:15 with no confirmation about it… sigh.

I’ll tell you what though, tonight these beers don’t stand a chance.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s