exhausted options

I shouldn't say this because I'm sure you're tired of listening, but I don't care. I maintain this space to unload things that are- for the most part- socially unacceptable to voice. For those of you who know me, you are well aware that my moods can be rapid cycling, to say the least. Today is a down day. Well, that's a little misleading. The past three months have been a down day, with slight spots of happiness. We're now in August and nothing has changed. I'm still unemployed. I'm still fat. I'm still without agent. I have friends, but they're stay at home moms who wouldn't understand my almost physical need to work every day. I spent the entire day laying in front of the television watching Bargain Hunt and eating nachos. That's not entirely true; I did edit the short script that's due on Wednesday. Nine pages. Big whoop.

The day started off terribly. I got a call from one of my good friends who is a recruiter for a Fortune 500 company for which I'd worked for years. I asked her to research a couple of positions for me that were advertising in Dallas. As it turns out, they aren't hiring for those positions until October and the positions are in SAN ANTONIO! Why the hell did the notice say "DALLAS", then?!?? So, I'm back at square one trying to find a job. It's depressing, especially when I'm sitting in my home office staring at my B.S. and my M.A. sitting side by side. Lots of flipping good they're doing me now.

I haven't received any word back from agents, managers or anything in weeks. This, too, is depressing. Ya'll, it's a quarter to seven and I'm ready to throw in the towel. Not just taking a shower, either. I mean, I'm ready to just lay down and die. I think I'm ready now. I've been a good human being for a long time now and I'm pretty confident that I will go to heaven (so long as I don't off myself on purpose). My husband and my son don't need me, the literary community doesn't know who I am and my Mastercard has protection on it so my balance will be forgiven in the event of my death. See? I'm all prepped and ready to go.

My husband just came in and told me that he loves me, which made me cry even harder. He thinks I'm a basket case. Maybe I am. But if I was, then I'd be revered as the next Hunter S. Thompson, right? Except that I'm just a chubby nobody sitting in Nowhere, TX.

When I was an impressionable little Catholic, I used to believe that God had chosen me for something special. Maybe it was all those hours I spent cooped up in a prayer closet that was messing with my mind, but I did. I believed that I was a "chosen" one. I believed that I could hear him speaking to me and that my steps were literally ordered by him. As I've gotten older, I find myself wondering why He allows me to feel so badly. Yeah, I know that my sadness is nowhere near, say, Jesus, but for a mortal, I'm feeling a little worse for wear. Times like this is when I lean so heavily on Him, that I'm just glad He's not as fickle or impatient as me.

I'm tired. I'm going to brush my teeth (I'm not gonna bleach tonight. What's the point?) and then go to bed. This is gonna be my last blog for awhile.