The end of the month (when I have to write an enormous check for my landlord) is the hardest for me. I feel the need to assess what I have accomplished (or not accomplished). This month has been particularly challenging, as I have not found a lot of good jobs to apply for, and it has generally been slow.
On Sunday, it will be 7 months. That’s just a long time. A long time to be bored, frustrated, tired and sad.
I keep making plans that are contingent on getting a job. “As soon as I get a job, I’ll…” comes out of my mouth all the time. All my financial plans are based on getting a job. Travel. I need to go to California to visit my family, but I keep putting it off, because I can’t afford to not temp for a whole week. Earlier this month, I finally broke down and got my hair cut, and I felt so guilty for spending money on something frivolous. But it was really nice, and now I don’t worry about looking so homeless.
I have to find a way to be comfortable with the fact that this little “project” has gone on for more than half a year. Pretty soon, I am going to need to find another work-at-home job that I can do on nights and weekends. I will have to figure out how I can pay my credit card bill (and not just the minimum). I’ll have to find a way to contribute to my Roth IRA and my savings account.
I want to be optimistic. I have three jobs that I am in the process of interviewing for. But as I learned in March, just because you are up for three jobs doesn’t mean you’ll be offered any of them. I want to be optimistic but I can’t get my hopes up. I guess there is a difference. Optimism is a long-term feeling, whereas hopes are hung on specific outcomes.
Labor Day is a big milestone, I suppose. Summer is over. I really wanted to be working by the end of summer. I think the next big milestone will be my birthday, in early November. If I am not working by then, I might need to develop a Plan C. I just started reading a memoir by a woman who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail in an attempt to find a way to cope with her mom passing away and her marriage dissolving (It’s called Wild, and it was endorsed somehow by Oprah’s book club, which I didn’t think existed any more). But rest assured, I won’t be transforming my life into anything worthy of a memoir of self-actualization just yet.
What if I temp forever? There is this amazing episode of Six Feet Under in which a woman passes away, completely alone. She dies eating a microwaveable dinner, doing a crossword puzzle and nobody finds her for a week, because she worked as a temp and didn’t have a family. At her funeral, she had requested that the organist play “And I Am Telling You, I’m Not Going” from Dreamgirls. She just lived, all alone, and then she died, all alone. She still had things that she liked, but there is this feeling throughout the episode that there is something terribly wrong with the way that she lived this solitary, quiet existence, with no roots, no family and no friends. And then she just disappeared. (I find this episode of the show almost unbearably sad.)
Currently, my biggest fear is that I will live in this liminal space forever, always waiting for something external to change so that I can move forward. I guess I just need to start saving up for my next haircut, and stop waiting for other people to make up their minds. I need to decide to live my life, as it is, right now: unemployed, kind of broke, a little bit bitter, but optimistic.