I have found myself unemployed. I would like to tell you the specifics of my circumstances, since I want to yell at someone, but I won't (I take out my frustrations through fictional writing). The bottom line is that I am able to receive unemployment benefits every week as long as meet certain requirements (which I do) .
In a strange, but coincidental twist of fate, I have become an unpaid writer.
This, I would agree, after reading about me in the "about me" portion of this blog means that I can pursue my goal of becoming a paid writer since I don't have to put in those 40 to 50 plus hours a week I was plugging away at a few months ago knowing that a paycheck would be waiting for me at some point. The fuck part of all of this is that I've become an unwilling participant in the "about me" portion of this blog. I did not choose this. I have to wake up every morning feeling that I'm unworthy of being employed (not to be confused with employable). I have become a statistic, a frowned upon little bearded thing of a being, unwilling to put forth the effort to get a job, as I sit at home watching unlimited amounts of ITT and community college "get your life in order" bullshit advertisements on TV because I am unwilling to put forth the effort like everyone else...
Back to the writing portion of this blog posting. Instant sanity, in a way.
If I could go back a few months ago, employed, knowing that someone (and I mean you people that work) would be willing to send me a check every week so I could sit back and do what I wanted to do, which is write, as if I was in some part of a, "wanna be writer, government backed, work source agency," I would sit at this computer or pad of paper all day, writing with a humongous smile on my face, taking walks around the block to walk my fictitious dog to "get my focus back". I wouldn't be worrying about anything but writing the best story I could.
Unfortunately, since this utopia doesn't exist, being creative is that last thing on my mind when I wake up every morning. Being unemployed, looking for work, keeping your phone next to you so you don't miss that call which doesn't come but no more than twice a week for a potential interview, isn't a life worth getting excited for. This life is not conducive to writing.
When I was working, after an eight to twelve hour shift, the only thing I thought about was to do one thing - WRITE. It was my passion. Words were the fuel to the passion fire that kept me thinking that, if I was able to bottle something on my off time, I was one step away from my goal. Man would that be cool.
-- And, when it comes right down to it, as a single dude, the "what do you do" question from the girl you just met sucks because the answer "unemployed" doesn't fly well in the I would like to get you know better portion of the evening (if she's still around at the end of the evening). --
In a strange, but coincidental twist of fate, I have become an unpaid writer.
This, I would agree, after reading about me in the "about me" portion of this blog means that I can pursue my goal of becoming a paid writer since I don't have to put in those 40 to 50 plus hours a week I was plugging away at a few months ago knowing that a paycheck would be waiting for me at some point. The fuck part of all of this is that I've become an unwilling participant in the "about me" portion of this blog. I did not choose this. I have to wake up every morning feeling that I'm unworthy of being employed (not to be confused with employable). I have become a statistic, a frowned upon little bearded thing of a being, unwilling to put forth the effort to get a job, as I sit at home watching unlimited amounts of ITT and community college "get your life in order" bullshit advertisements on TV because I am unwilling to put forth the effort like everyone else...
Back to the writing portion of this blog posting. Instant sanity, in a way.
If I could go back a few months ago, employed, knowing that someone (and I mean you people that work) would be willing to send me a check every week so I could sit back and do what I wanted to do, which is write, as if I was in some part of a, "wanna be writer, government backed, work source agency," I would sit at this computer or pad of paper all day, writing with a humongous smile on my face, taking walks around the block to walk my fictitious dog to "get my focus back". I wouldn't be worrying about anything but writing the best story I could.
Unfortunately, since this utopia doesn't exist, being creative is that last thing on my mind when I wake up every morning. Being unemployed, looking for work, keeping your phone next to you so you don't miss that call which doesn't come but no more than twice a week for a potential interview, isn't a life worth getting excited for. This life is not conducive to writing.
When I was working, after an eight to twelve hour shift, the only thing I thought about was to do one thing - WRITE. It was my passion. Words were the fuel to the passion fire that kept me thinking that, if I was able to bottle something on my off time, I was one step away from my goal. Man would that be cool.
-- And, when it comes right down to it, as a single dude, the "what do you do" question from the girl you just met sucks because the answer "unemployed" doesn't fly well in the I would like to get you know better portion of the evening (if she's still around at the end of the evening). --
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