Uniquely Unqualified

Hello. Long time, no write. In recent news, I lost my job this week. I won’t go into detail and I’m trying not to be bitter. But suffice to say that it sucks, hardcore. I already had a lot going on mental health wise so this latest development has raised my stress level considerably. I would love to write and get paid for something other than a content mill, but right now I’m focusing on getting a steady paycheck.

Frustrating as it is, there is nothing I am uniquely qualified for as far as job positions go. I have a background in administrative work and customer service, so I am applying for everything from nursing home dietary aide to Ross store associate. I would like to apply for management positions but there’s this little thing called experience holding me back. My ideal job would be tasks that I could manage myself, such as when I worked as the sole imaging clerk at Norco. But I am nothing if not a former idealist and I know that realistically, the perfect position just isn’t going to fall into my lap.

Then there is the question of writing for a living. Could I get skilled at writing for content mills? I know the pay is crap but at least it would be close to doing something I was passionate about.

Jack of all trades, master of none. So much fun! Oh, and I accidentally signed up for job updates from a faux website so I get updates from “JobVado” and “Bunch of Jobs” every five seconds. It’s annoying as hell. Glassdoor used to be a great site for job resources but now it is flooded with spammers and illegitimate postings as far as I can tell.

On the interview front, at least I am getting interviews, which is more than I can say for my time in Utah. Rejected at Macy’s for cosmetics sales counter girl (not commission based but they assured me that I would feel as though I was on commission. Not a job for the socially phobic introvert anyhow). Then I rejected the offer to work as what is essentially a door-to-door salesman, where the first year’s earnings would be solely based on commission. Nope, I just need a steady paycheck.

Also, the school positions I can apply for are scarce as far as I can tell. I’m in the process of applying for school lunch lady. Can’t you just see it? I can, and it would be during Violet’s school hours which would be awesome. Not sure what qualifies me other than having served a few dinners in my day and the fact that, at one point, I thought I wanted to be a teacher.

So will she get a job? She doesn’t qualify for unemployment so she’d better get something, and fast. Stay tuned folks. And here’s my obligatory YouTube entry to brighten your day:

A Relative Term

We were all doing well until the matriarch fell.

But well is a relative term.

My grandmother fell on New Year’s Eve and broke her shoulder. It’s been a rough six weeks for her, to make the understatement of the year. Watching her, in pain, has one of the most stressful things I’ve had to do. I can’t imagine the kind of pain she’s has endured, especially at the beginning of this journey. I am so grateful, however, that the break was not worse. Because her hip surgery four years ago was so traumatic, no one is sure whether she could survive a surgery or the healing process thereafter.

Because I respect her privacy, I will not go into further detail.

As I sit here with insomnia, I reflect on whether I am well, or whether I will always remain slightly broken. The truth? I’m perpetually in a state of “getting there.” Because the prognosis for my illnesses is a lifetime, I must accept the fact that I will never be completely symptom free. But there are moments. Those moments when I immerse myself in music, or writing, or some other form of amusement, and I am free from the burdens of my illness. Those moments are like winning the mental health jackpot.

I often wonder how much of my absent-mindedness and recklessness is due to my personality, my medications, or my illnesses. I must conclude that it’s a combination of the three. Because for me, as of late, life has been more than slightly wrought with uncertainty. Some of my stressors are of my own creation. Some are haphazard as existence itself. All are wreaking havoc on my state of being.

I tell myself that I am happier. But happiness, for me, has always been fleeting. I suppose I can attribute that to the nature of happiness or the nature of myself.

There is always the question of the span of time. The time from the break, through the initial pain, then through the healing process is as of yet undetermined.  And I ask, was I ever whole? What am I seeking? Must these wounds form an open, aching, necrotic sore? Time will tell.

But time is a relative term.