faded, dusty jumpsuit.

Well?


I am tired of silence.
I am losing my mind with this lack of change. 
And I am sick of looking at job websites. 


The internet makes my eyes hurt, and the lack of prospects cause an even bigger pain at the direct center of my head, just about the place where I imagine my brain used to be, before it ever so slowly (and dramatically) over the last hour and a half disentigrated into dust, fell out through my ears and nose and eyes, and left my body forever. 


Oh yeah. That's the mental, (despite my newly brainless quality), state that I am currently in. Hopelessness and disappointment are one hell of a chummy pair these days. 


Still, things seem bleak if we focus only on the bleakness, on the lack of color, of choice, of opportunity. No, there's nothing (today) that I find interesting, nothing I feel compelled to try or inclined to want, as I scroll and scan and read and sigh. And, if there was anything in the world more frustrating (and confusing) as an online job description, I haven't found it yet, and I hope I never do. Seriously. Somebody should just hire ME to write clear, concise, un-flowerly and direct descriptions of what their positions require and expect. Ninety-nine percent of these sites have baffled me to the point of giving up: the dangerously long run-on sentences, the nonsensical drama of what they will and will not allow, all in a whirlwind of misused punctuation. More often than not they have me closing the window in a huff and stress-eating, as I rewrite the muddy paragraph in my head, using short, concise points, all evenly spaced and numbered, with the best of intentions. Hear that, universe? I'm putting myself out there!


Still, the job market knows what it's doing. They've developed quite a few clever (or, as I prefer, sneaky) ways of dissuading peoples' applications before the process has even taken off. To start, discombobulated explanations of what they desire in a fitting candidate (as well as the exaggerated years of experience they'd like you to have under your belt) is where they start in order to weed out the amount of resumes they will suddenly find themselves buried under. Who can blame them, I suppose? STILL, if you'd like to be one of the many that makes it through to the other side, the point is to not be discouraged by what the page demands. Most employers know they're reaching too high, and assume that if you feel less than qualified, you will just go on your way, to the next page, the next site, and finish up in time for your 1 o'clock shift. Sigh freaking sigh, everyone.


The world we live in isn't exactly designed to welcome you with open arms. They want you to fight back a little, to force your way in, to get past the obstacles and get through the hoops. And even after all that, you still might not be invited. And once you're in? Even then? They'll make you fight to keep what you feel you've already rightfully earned. Dog-eat-dog is no joke, and no understatement. Not that I don't have the fight in me (trust me, I always have a fist clenched and a comeback prepared), but I'm lately starting to wonder what I really want, versus what I've been trying to be. Essentially, it's pretty tough to win the battle when you aren't exactly sure what you're fighting for. And don't be confused, it is not a lack a motivation, or even a lack of direction. Rather, it might be an inclination for a different way altogether. Though writing is an undeniable part of my life, a thing through which I function, it's my dominant arm, hand, brain-side, quality, force of life, perhaps I need to take a step or two backwards in order to see the best way I can use this talent, this urge, this way to be. If I can pretty clearly imagine where I don't belong, it's probably time I figured out where I do. 


Easier said than done, as most things are. I mean, this world will find a way to convince you that you can't do the things that mean the most to you, that you will never be certain things, that without health benefits (important, but not the most important) you are doomed. This is a strict system that insists you either get on board or be left behind. I'm just looking for the loopholes, the ones that encourage my left-brain, the ones that understand why we need that creative diversion more than a bigger office or a three-day weekend. I want to feel free, in the real sense. In the big sense. I can live life in an adult way, I can grow up without growing old, and I want to be here in order to protect the best sense of myself, the parts of me that I can't give up or compromise. In terms of earning an income while living by these standards, well. I don't know. There has to be a way, and I aim to find it. I don't know what this is going to require of me, something altogether different or more of the same. More patience, probably, which I will every so often have to remind myself to keep. Probably another stab at holding on to hope, possibly the realization that not every dismissal is personal, if any at all are. I may have to coach myself to keep trying, which is no real detour from the road on which I'm already traveling.


And, on the days when it feels the least and most possible, to believe for the very best, despite the odds, despite what I've already been shocked or saddened to learn, in the face of the distractions or discouragements I might face [again]. Time to zip up and get moving. Next stop, someday soon, liberation.