The gal who preceded me and the one who followed were also let go after three months. We all got the tee-shirt, but one of us didn’t survive. She killed herself several months after losing her job. The word “unstable” comes to mind. But she had help. The owner of the bakery expedited her journey into hopelessness.
I was in a dark place, too, when the owner told me, “We’re letting you go. I really need someone with more inventory management experience.”
He knew I didn’t bring that to the job when he hired me. I told him that. Nothing I said mattered. It was my time. The damage had been done.
I needed to purge dark thoughts from my head and blogged about it.
A day without work. At home trying to get organized. A problem. Always. Can’t reign in my thoughts to stabilize the content in my head. The executive function in my brain takes too many coffee breaks, gets in late, and leaves early. The proverbial cluttered mind with a desk by the window. I look outside and see trees but can’t see the forest through them.
Where will the trajectory path of my day go? Probably nowhere, fast until I look outside and see darkness but not the trees. If I squint and look up, I’ll see stars, none of them for me. Although one year, I received a star for Christmas named after me. An ex-employer’s idea of a really nifty gift. The card ended up in the garbage before I knew about shredders.
Today, I hope to deposit a check (checks and balances, you know) and get some food. Food is minimal like my thoughts. Tomorrow, I hope to get up and remember that it is Saturday and not a day that I should be working when I’m not, like today.
Blogging helped me reconnect to the world. Odd indeed since I only interacted with otherworldly types, often hidden behind an avatar.
Back then I wrote about my unstructured days on unemployment, slipping from one room in my house to another trying to find my way back to “normal,” which still eludes me. I’m convinced it doesn’t exist anymore.
For three years, I looked for a permanent job. Along the way, I was hired by a debt collection agency, a credit card company as well as a plumber. All three jobs lasted three months. All three jobs had one thing in common. The positions were a revolving door. Just as my foot stepped onto the mat indoors, another stepped onto the one outdoors. It was the nature of a disposable job market in which people were considered as valuable as yesterday’s trash.
Each time I lost a job, I lost a chunk of self-confidence. I had to scratch my way to the top of the jobless heap during every subsequent search for employment. Yet, I continued to find work, sometimes temporary, sometimes freelance, but never permanent. The job I still hold today (that I started in 2011) is only permanent part-time.
The sting of being rejected by three employers has long abated thanks to blogging as well as writing.
After I climbed out of the hole into sunlight, I wrote a satirical memoir about my experiences during those three years of on-again, off-again jobs.
Now my purpose for blogging hangs like a parachutist’s line snagged on a craggy cliff. I suck back the fear of hanging in midair, waiting for a solution to reveal itself.
I ask one of the blogging voices in my head, Why am I here?
She says, “Why not?”
Why do you still blog?