I could set this whole thing to music, and make it a country song. Except that Nashville has been drowning in actual flood waters.
I take my prescription antidepressant daily, but my genetic makeup is stronger than the pill. The depression seems to be winning.
I just filled out another job application online. It should make me feel better, that I’m being pro-active about my joblessness, but I feel badly that I didn’t get a confirmation e-mail.
I promised them in the “notes” section that I was a dedicated hard-working individual, and I would be—along with the other umpteen candidates they’ll get for the job.
Will they call me? I doubt it very much. This is about the fourth application I have filed with that particular organization.
My references are good, I have a degree, a high school diploma, plenty of experience—and possibly a mental illness that could shoot the whole pack of balloons out of the sky faster than a cartoon gunslinger.
I remember my family telling many, many tales of hardships during the Great Depression of the 1930s ... now, almost 100 years later, many of us are re-living the “good old days” whether we want to or not.
During the gung-ho “Wall Street” days of the ‘80s, it seemed nothing could go wrong. One could pick and choose jobs as easily as one chose yogurt toppings at the ice cream shop. Not any more.
The area of the U.S. that I have lived in most of my life has been hard hit by the economic downturn. Much as I would love to move to another state or country, there are family issues that keep me tethered to my current location.
Tomorrow, maybe I’ll feel better. Maybe things will look brighter. And, I’ll definitely fill out another job application. Even if I have to break the world’s record for filling out the most forms, without ever getting a call-back.