In between the scouring of want ads, job boards, and corporate websites trying to find a home for my talents that will simultaneously pay my bills, I am trying to stay productive and creative. Most days I don't. The crushing reality of being unemployed with two kids and job prospects that seem designed to either drive me insane or work me to death tend to discourage much creativity. It is not always the case, but the creativity born of such frustration usually just reinforces a crappy mood. I feel like I should be writing every day in an effort to practice myself closer to autonomous employment, but the actual act of getting my thoughts arranged into packets of electronic data feels so foreign in the middle of a room shared by two children under four and a wife who feels the need to speak to me while I do this.
Obviously, it is up to me to make whatever changes I need to make in order to allow myself the opportunity to write more, if that is what I truly want to be doing. I do not intend to make myself out as a victim here. I'm simply venting my frustrations with the situation, and writing at the same time. Killing multiple birds with a single stone and the like.
The fact of the matter is that I want to work. I want to feel like I am contributing something positive to the world. Maybe I should give that up since I tried that with Red Cross and that put me where I am today. It seems like the entry level jobs don't want me because they fear that I will run to the next job available, other jobs don't want me because my experience costs too much, and therefore I don't even get calls back or letters of consolation. No amount of response letters or tailored resumes seem to make a difference. I must persist, I will persist; I just had to take a minute to complain about it.
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