I'm feeling a need to get some things off of my (admittedly ample) chest. I've been sitting here with this blank box open all day, trying to figure out how to put it into words. Amusing, since that what I used to be paid to do. Which is all part of the problem.
As you can probably guess, I didn't go picket this morning. Yesterday ended up being an extra-long day, and after working at the gym from 5:30am to 12:30pm, coming home, blogging, working on my freelance gig, and then going back to the gym for the evening shift, I was pretty much done. I woke up with all intentions of heading out to strap on my picket sign and protesting the man but the minute I stepped outside I felt like all of the air had been sucked out out the atmosphere. I led Daisy around the block, went back inside to sit down and realized that I wasn't feeling any better. I wasn't sick. Physically, anyway.
I spent the new-found free time like I spend all of my new-found free time these days; not writing, but job searching. Ten emails with resumes-attached later, I opened up the search to include not only online/new media/community manager/copywriter/editor/creative services/PR/producer/reality tape logger positions (I apply for everything that I can remotely mold my qualifications to fit, the magic of the cover letter...) but to seasonal jobs. It appears I'm going to have to hit the pavement to fold your jeans at the GAP or to shelve books at the Barnes & Noble. Which is fine, it really is, although I do draw the line at sending in a resume to be a gift wrapper. I don't see how my GPA is relevant to my ability to tie a bow.
I started calling myself a writer when I started making a living doing it. It was the best time in my life and every day I woke up and reminded myself that I was lucky to be there. As things started to slow, I reminded myself that I was still making a living doing what I wanted to do. As things completely dried up, I tried to believe that I was okay with the idea that for just a moment, I had gotten to do something that so many people desperately want to do and never get the chance to.
But that's not true, I'm not okay with it, and that's been the toughest part to swallow. I know that everyone's got their own issues, but I would be lying if I didn't say that things are extraordinarily tough right now. I'm trying to simultaneously apply for jobs that could maybe turn into a career (zero responses), jobs that I can use to help me cover my bills (zero responses, at least I'm consistent), study for the LSAT, try to figure out if perhaps there's another avenue rather than law school that it would be more prudent to take or I might be more interested in (J-School?), dealing with the weird miscarriage feelings, stuff with Will, the fact that I haven't worked out in ages, working at the two jobs I am getting paid for, and oh yeah, write.
I'm fucking exhausted. So anyone out there that thinks they want to work in TVland, I'm telling you right now: find something else to do. I used to be cute, smart, and witty, and all I am these days is old, broken, and bitter. I am about to lose it in a Very Big Way.
Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta see if I can retailor my resume to the Gift Wrapping Sciences.
