Today I have nine jobs waiting for me to write cover letters for in my email queue. I hate writing cover letters. At least most are jobs I'm actually interested in. I always get so insecure about writing cover letters. They all seem like bullshit. Since I've rarely worked in traditional workplaces (and never had a full time job for more than 3 months in my entire adult life), the idea of writing a straight square cover letter always freaks me out. I'm always a little quirky because that's who I am and I don't want to sell a bill of goods to someplace I'll have to spend a significant amount of time. I have seen some good ones though and I'm going to give it the old bohemian try.
I'm going to the gym first to focus my mind. I'm only going to do 3 cover letters for the jobs today. I know I get burned out fast on things I'm not really interested in doing.
I hate this. I hate blind job sends. I hate it because it's never worked for me and I never receive any feedback so I keep changing my resume thinking it's the problem without really knowing. I've been freelance for 16 years and now that it's dried up it's made me question my basic value systems. It been good questioning with disturbing answers. Like, I know- KNOW- I cannot work in any corporate office environment. I don't want to use my life like that. I like money as much as the next girl, but is it really worth it to go to work everyday plotting my coworkers demise. It's really the conversation of it all. I hate the pedantic chitchat. If I could just show up, do my work (in however long it takes) and bounce then I'd be a happy clam.
But all the unspoken rules of conduct and conformity should have gotten beaten into me when I was still a kid. Instead, I got to wear whatever I wanted, speak my mind, manage my own time and people, and then go party with people I love and respect. I'm spoiled to the concept of work. Oh and did I mention they gave me a lot of money for it as well?
Oh, well. It's a new dawn. It's a new day. Let me go take out my frustrations on the elliptical machine and come back home and bang this out.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Dispondant
I guess I don't write because I don't feel like I have anything to say. I've started a storytelling night at my local bar, but still don't think what I have to say is important. It's a problem. I don't even have a story to tell next Monday, and it's my damn night. Arghh.
I feel like all of this is bullshit. What's the point of any of it? I'm feeling very doomsday machine about the entire existence. I guess that's what depression is, but the side effects of the anti depression meds sound like a hangover to me and drinking's much more fun.
I kinda want to tell a story about sex, but really? I can scant remember what that's even like. What about my childhood? Well if I'm drunk enough, which already says a lot about that story. I don't have any new stories to tell except what lives in my head. Not having much cash has limited my movements. FALSE. Freaking out about money and having the darkness living just over my head has limited my movements. This is NYC and I'm smart enough to find free shit.
What do I want to say? That I don't believe in the life I was bred to live. I think the whole system is going down in flames so why try to run a losing race? I can see through the illusion of a middle class ideal and what I interpret as the plastic boringness of it. It seems stupid to continue applying for jobs I don't want that I never hear back from anyway. The questioning of the choices I've made. Fighting hard to move forward and find my own way. All with $37 to my name.
I'm exhausted and feel like it's only going to get worse. I don't believe that all the time and it's not ingrained in my core. Yet the active part of me gets paralyzed and overwhelmed by it. I have no security anywhere. I have no job, my rent's always late, my family's moved from my childhood home, and the part that makes me mad to write- I'm single.
It makes me mad because I don't like to identify with the idea that a man would make any of that easier. [Yet see the sex comment above.]
I'm going to see Liza tonight and maybe her abject crazyness will inspire me to get over myself and stop the voice that tells me it's all worthless.
Happy post Kiddo, happy post.
I feel like all of this is bullshit. What's the point of any of it? I'm feeling very doomsday machine about the entire existence. I guess that's what depression is, but the side effects of the anti depression meds sound like a hangover to me and drinking's much more fun.
I kinda want to tell a story about sex, but really? I can scant remember what that's even like. What about my childhood? Well if I'm drunk enough, which already says a lot about that story. I don't have any new stories to tell except what lives in my head. Not having much cash has limited my movements. FALSE. Freaking out about money and having the darkness living just over my head has limited my movements. This is NYC and I'm smart enough to find free shit.
What do I want to say? That I don't believe in the life I was bred to live. I think the whole system is going down in flames so why try to run a losing race? I can see through the illusion of a middle class ideal and what I interpret as the plastic boringness of it. It seems stupid to continue applying for jobs I don't want that I never hear back from anyway. The questioning of the choices I've made. Fighting hard to move forward and find my own way. All with $37 to my name.
I'm exhausted and feel like it's only going to get worse. I don't believe that all the time and it's not ingrained in my core. Yet the active part of me gets paralyzed and overwhelmed by it. I have no security anywhere. I have no job, my rent's always late, my family's moved from my childhood home, and the part that makes me mad to write- I'm single.
It makes me mad because I don't like to identify with the idea that a man would make any of that easier. [Yet see the sex comment above.]
I'm going to see Liza tonight and maybe her abject crazyness will inspire me to get over myself and stop the voice that tells me it's all worthless.
Happy post Kiddo, happy post.
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