I feel like I have nothing to say since every day is still unemployed.
Over and over.
Except for a 2.5 hour class that I am teaching tonight and will be teaching for the next I guess seven weeks.
That’s about it really.
Would that I could live on $400/month for two months, three times a year.
Oh I’m doing stuff, this and that, getting out there. Trying to find the work.
Today, a phone call.
_________ got my resume for the job working with immigrants.
A phone interview first, says the woman on the phone. Then, if we want to, we will get you in for an interview tomorrow.
It was work that I could do and would enjoy doing and would be good at.
But ____________, they have 800 resumes to choose from.
Blah, blah, spontaneous phone interview on the spot while I am standing in the rain in front of my doctor’s office in North Vancouver.
Blah, blah, no phone call back.
That adds more nihilism to the whole thing really, like another whole layer.
“You don’t seem depressed,” says my GP, “You are funny and quick. People like funny people.”
“Well, then,” I say, “It must all be in my head.”
We talk for a few minutes about her sister’s family – her sister and I used to be friends 20 years ago but then this and that happens and you know, these things split apart. Seems sister’s children are getting married young, like early 20s young.
They are Christians of a more fundy sort.
“Well, yes,” I say, “It’s because they want to have sex.”
“But their brains aren’t even fully developed.”
“I hear that.”
She leaves me with prescriptions and a requisition for every kind of blood test ever invented.
I leave, happy she thinks I am funny but stymied that after all these years, she doesn’t understand how thrilling it is for me to be shrining twice a month or so with a good shrink.
Gack, I’m sick of myself at this point.
I was going to stay in all day until my class and cancel my doctor’s appointment, so panicked and yucky the insomnia has made me.
Instead I schlepp to the West Van. library and enjoy that, all the while knowing that I am killing time because I can’t get a job.
I’m so so sick of it.
See? This leaves me with little to write.