Depression as result of unemployment, take #39

Earlier today, I returned home from the Braves’ afternoon game that I was able to attend because I’m not working, irritated that despite the stellar record the Braves have at home, they still managed to put up a stinker and lose to a poor Nationals team that made me wish I hadn’t come out to the park to witness.  Compounded with the fact that I was irritated with the spontaneous traffic jam that occurred on my way home, the sheer lack of a conveniently located Chic-Fil-A to satiate the irritating hunger that descended upon me that caused an irritating headache, mostly stemming from zero caffeine prior to.

I returned home from trivia after yet another disappointing 4th place finish, irritated that no matter how well we think we’re doing, we’re just not quite good enough.  As I was driving home, I thought to myself that I should probably get to bed as soon as possible, so I could wake up early for my morning jog.  But what after that?  I’m not working, so essentially, there’s absolutely little motive for me to sleep at a normal time, to wake up early.  On top of that, I’ve had about four Diet Cokes in the last eight hours, and now I’m a little caffeinated; but at least the headache is gone.

I need to get myself some real fucking work.

It goes without much saying that the root of all my problems is the simple fact that throughout the last, almost two years now, has been the conundrum that I have not had stable, steady work.  The result of which is a lack of stable, steady pay, which leads to unpredictability.  Unpredictability is not good for anyone’s health, much less my own.  I have more white hair than ever, and acknowledging it stresses me out to where it causes more, but it’s fucking unavoidable.

But mostly, it’s the money issue that 95% of Americans deal, stress, and worry about that also plagues me.  But the thing is, out of those 95% of Americans, quite a large percentage of those people are at least employed; they’re just not making enough money to make ends meet.   The sad reality is that I do not have a whole lot of monthly expenditures.  I do not need a whole lot of money to be somewhat comfortable, and at the same time build up a savings.  But naturally, sometimes life gets in the way, and creates a few obstacles here and there, and namely for me, it’s stuff like a creaky car that likely needs a good bit of work done to it, on top of the monthly bills and expenses.  And with the unpredictable, especially lately, nature of freelance graphic design work, getting a somewhat substantially necessary amount of money these days has become sparse, tiresome, and stressful.

I am 100% certain that the stability of a full-time job will be the cure-all to all of my problems.

With predictable income, I can plot my expenses, and plan my savings.  Much like the last time I had a steady freelance gig for over 12 months, I came out of it with more money than I knew what to do with, with a real, full-time job, I’m aspiring to end up even better than that.

With money, I can repair my car, and aggressively pay it off completely.  With money, I can spoil myself, my family, and help out where necessary; I have no aspirations to be filthy rich.  Never do I ever say I want to be rich; but comfortable.  Because being comfortable entails the financial means to live pleasantly, but not to the degree of excess.

With stability on the financial side, I’d feel more comfortable and confident with my life in general, to where I’d feel fine about pursuing a girl, if the right kind comes along in my isolated life.  I’m a prideful guy; old-fashioned and chivalrous, doing my best to be a gentleman, so I’d like to be able to pay for dinners, dates, and other thoughtful gestures, but in order to do such, I need to have some money.

With a full-time job, I might be able to settle into a nice routine, and get back to a gym; get back to some real weight lifting, exercising, and maybe aspire to get in better shape than my last aggressive gym regimen.  But most importantly, with a full-time job, I might be able to not stress about what lies ahead, next week or next month, at least for two years.

But I can’t seem to get a callback from any company these days.  Out of my entire professional career, I have never had such a hard time getting a response from any companies that I’m applying to, even if it is rejection.  And as much as I’m trying not to let it get to me, I’m really beginning to feel dejected and discouraged by it.  I know I’m a talented-as-fuck graphic designer, but I just simply can’t get my foot in the door with the places I’m applying to.

The other day was the back-breaker for me, and I’m telling myself that I really need to think it over before deciding on any action, but the truth of the matter is that I am genuinely pissed about it.  Long story short, I spent two hours on an online application for a position that I was more than capable of doing, maybe a little over-qualified in fact.  It entailed listing seven years of work history, references, schooling, qualifications, etc, and then essentially a psychology profiling test, but because I took this seriously, I did everything honestly, and as thoroughly as I could.

And then five minutes after I sent the application off, I receive an automated response telling me that my “work preferences” are not ideal for the company, and I am no longer considered for the position.  I spend two hours of my apparent worthless plebeian time for a word filter to decide in five minutes that I’m not considerable material for this company?

Criticism, and rejection are both things that come with the territory of graphic design, and job searching.  I can handle both perfectly fine; with just reason.  I put a lot of thought, time, effort, and honesty and courtesy into this online application, and some fucking bot weeds me out in five minutes, just like that.  I am bitter about this one, and their HR department has been sent a love letter with a few strong, but still civil words expressing my frustration with their bullshit.

It doesn’t help deflate me a little further in my eventual pursuit for real work, but man does it make me feel like there’s no point in going to bed at a reasonable hour, with aspirations that my phone will ring, with hope on the other line.

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