Danger, Will Robinson

I find myself between a rock and a hard place.

I've had two phone interviews and one Skype interview since I've been out of work. Nothing face to face. Lately, there seem to be two, count 'em, two job openings for a technical writer in central Jersey and one in south Jersey. It's a doable commute, but the pay stinks.

I am now on my last ragged legs of unemployment benefits. I owe over $22,000 on a Home Equity Line of Credit. I have some investments, but I really hate to break into them. I'm investigating how to go onto welfare and SNAP, fka, food stamps.

Last night, I was talking to Emma. Over the last few months, I've heard nothing but complaints from her about the cleaning women sent over. They don't clean to her satisfaction and she screams obscenities at them. Needless to say, they don't come back. Right now, Swen is letting her down in nearly every way imaginable. There's some husband and wife stuff in there I veer away from at every opportunity.

She said, "I want you to come up here and take care of me. I'll pay you $5,000 a month. The only decision you have to make is how many of your cats you'll bring up here." Hold the phone. This sounds like she expects me to live with her 24/7 as well as sacrificing some of my cats. Red flags? It looks like the May Day celebration when Kruschev was in power. No. No. No.

I told her it was a lot to think about. She agreed. I thought about a lot of things. She is now virtually powerless, trapped in her living room, unable to gather the strength to go upstairs to bed, unable to go into the kitchen to make herself a sandwich when Swen is at work. She is also given to wild swings of emotion, alternately screaming and hysterically sobbing.

This would be my childhood and adulthood nightmare come true - taking 24/7 care of a mentally ill, physically disabled woman. In my childhood, I feared it would be my mother. In my adulthood, I fear it will be Emma.

I thought about renting a little house in town, away from their farm, and bringing my cats with me, putting my stuff in storage in Virginia, and doing it that way. But in my heart - my hard heart? - I know it won't be right, I know it will result in disaster.

There's another offer on the table. I went to Washington, DC for Thanksgiving. Realizing I had an entire hotel room to split up, I invited Cousin Kim to come stay with me. She agreed and we proceeded to have a grand old time in a very nice hotel in the middle of DC. At dinner one night, I began to tell her the tale of the homeless woman who's on my radar. She's local to the community and can be spotted on her daily routine going from the church where she sleeps to the library, where she quietly spends her days. Kim said to me, "You never have to worry about that as long as I'm alive." She has a spare room in her house in Richmond. And that sounded very appealing, very appealing indeed, a gift from above as it were.

So you see my dilemma.

Also, I don't know how long I'll be in Ma Maisonette. I have money in retirement investments, but it's not very much. In deposits, I have $2,213.08. To my Home Equity Loan, I owe $22,411.84. I'm scared.

I don't know these days how to go about getting a regular office job.They seem to have dried up or have been sucked up by the very calibrated job hunting system in place. Next stop, Craigslist.

Comments, rants, calm discussions appreciated.

A Reckoning and a Mystery

Last week, I was called into Recruiting Company 1 where I'd contracted for Really Big Pharma. I had to turn in my/their laptop and mostly to have a discussion about What Happened.

Properly tranked down, I showed up as directed and met in person and conference call with my recruiter and some guy I'd never met before. I handed over the laptop. I sat down and the inevitable question arose, what happened?

I related that I had shown up at work, was working on a document when the RBP manager showed up at the corral door and asked to have a little convo with me. We met in what once had been a printer room. There was no door, but no need to shut it because I knew this was going to be a brief conversation.

RBP Manager sighed and said, "You know this isn't working out. I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go." Like, today. Like, right now. Like, this very minute.

We went back to my work space (that's what you get these days, not a cubicle - oh for the days of the cube farm! - but a work space, a desk space of maybe 2 x 3 feet). He had the good grace not to watch me pack up my few belongings. At the security desk, he shook hands, took my ID badge, and I rolled out the front door, my head swimming. It didn't take long to clear up.

So this I related in plainer terms to the recruiter and the stranger. I started off by saying, "First of all, 95% of the conversation was in Hindi." A buzz like an electric shock generated through the air. I knew why. This was a hostile work place that I'd been dropped into and they knew it. The big question was whether or not I would sue anybody about it. No, I'm not. I know black lists exist and I don't want to get myself on one.

Well, what else? I was rarely given assignments and when I did, I got feedback on one, count 'em, one document in the space of three months. I elaborated about other complexities of life at RBP.

I asked the question that was most on my mind: Was I considered fired?

No, no, no, they hurriedly said. "We'll be on the lookout for other jobs for you." Yeah. And the moon is made of cheese.

This means that they have to approve my unemployment claim and I wish they'd hop on that right quick.

In the meantime, there is the mystery of what am I going to do with myself? Suddenly technical writing ads come with things like "must be familiar with taxonomies and (software I've never heard of)".

I'm trying to establish a schedule for myself and so far, I've met with wobbly success. I've returned to the local Barnes & Noble knitters/crocheters group on Monday mornings. I try to go to Mass most mornings. One bad thing is that I spend the afternoons hiding in You Tube history documentaries. I was watching murder/solved murder shows but the world is full enough of evil. I'm having middling success with staying on my meds.

The cats, especially Toby, are very grateful to have me around. Toby has become my cat and I love that.

But I'd love it better if I had a job.

Once More, With Feeling

Last Thursday, I was walked to the security desk of Really Big Pharma where I handed over my badge and was told never to return.

I suppose I should have been stunned and come home in tears, but I didn't do that. Mostly, my head spun a little at how suddenly it had happened, but I seemed to get over that pretty quickly.

I have a number of concerns in mind.

1. I have two, count 'em two laptops from the contracting company I was working for. I have to find a way to get these back to the firm and get a receipt in my hot little hands.
2. I'm afraid they're going to charge me for these computers and they are both a piece of shit. Two pieces of shit.
3. I have to find a way to enter my hours for October.
4. I have to get paid for September, which should occur in a week. Then I have to get paid for October.
5. I filed for unemployment insurance on Friday morning and am concerned that the contracting company will consider me to be fired.
6. I am considering filing a complaint about Really Big Pharma creating a hostile workplace but this is honestly mere whimsy.

I have learned that if I want to make more than unemployment insurance, I have to make more than $16.60 per hour.

Jobs are not thick on the ground.

I have talked to Dr. Angela and she has yelled at me (she can't help it, she's Sicilian) and told me I need to look for a job four to five hours a day. This is not easy to do. Once I look at the email from the job boards I've signed up for, there's not a lot I can do. And by "looking", I mean applying for them.

Despite being a writer, I have a wretched time writing cover letters. I'm going to have to devote special time for this. Maybe that will be part of my four to five hours a day.

I did have a very bad day on Friday but talked to Emma and she helped drag me out of the Slough of Despond. I find myself relying heavily on You Tube for entertainment. Specifically, there are shows like "Life on an Edwardian Farm", "Life on a Victorian Farm", "Life on a Wartime Farm" and the latest selection, "Building a Medieval Castle." These are great fun to me and I always get a kick out of the tremendous enthusiasm shown by one of the hosts, Ruth Goodman. There's no job too dirty or heavy or onerous that she won't go at with gusto.

I regard this job search as my next great Challenge. I'm going to have to be disciplined and work hard, two things I'm not very good at. The foundation of this is to stay current on my meds. So far, that's no problem but it can vary from week to week. Another thing that helps is a daily schedule. This includes the Great Job Search and working on the house.

It stung when Dr. A said this is not a good time of year to be looking for a job, although I know she's right.

Still, here we are and off we go.

The Tale of the Poncho

Realizing that my closet was offering slim pickings these days, I joined Stitch Fix. I saw them advertise on Facebook and it seemed like This Was Made For Me. A "stylist" would take my sizes and preferences and choose five items for me. The items would be boxed and shipped to me. Anything I didn't like, I could just slip into the included plastic bag and ship it back.

I got my first "fix", as the company calls them, a couple of weeks ago. The first thing I opened was a circular necklace that I loved. Okay, a keeper. The second thing was a black top with a heavily embroidered yoke. Love at first sight. Another keeper. The third I was not so crazy about, but hey, it was something else to wear, a top with a wide neck and bows (the hell?) on the cuffs. Fourth came a wildly patterned top in black, blue, white, and orange. I liked it.

Last and certainly not least was a Mystery Garment. It was made of navy blue knit, very lightweight, and had an opening for my head. I popped it over my head and the flowing hem was circular. For the life of me, I could not figure out what it was supposed to be. I supposed it could only be a poncho, but there weren't any armholes. It was, at least, good at providing coverage although of course I would have to wear a t-shirt of some sort under it.

I began to hang up my new clothes. They were a little wrinkled but because they were mostly polyester, the wrinkles would disappear.

Clearing up the box contents, I came across a card that read "Suggested looks to go with your fix." Okay, mostly jeans and tidy trousers for the tops. And the poncho...was a skirt.

Well, that explained a lot. I laughed at myself until my sides ached. And ordered another fix. Alas, it will be my last.

Blue, 2001 (?) - September 3, 2017

Blue died yesterday morning. He was in my arms, in the emergency vet clinic, when the fatal dose was administered.


I hadn't slept well for several nights, which is highly unusual for me. Yesterday, in the wee hours, Blue was on the bed, but he wasn't in his usual spot. He'd seemed perfectly well on Saturday. But he jumped down and let out a horrible yowl. He wandered into the living room and every now and then, yowled again.

I was waiting for him to throw up. He usually announces his barfing. But this was different and I heard his pain. It took me about a half cup of coffee to load him into the pet carrier and take him to the emergency vet.

The prognosis was grim. His bladder was full to bursting and obstructed. He had a large growth on his lung. His breathing was rough.

I can't go into any more detail. It's still too new and raw. But I made the decision to have him put down and he died in my arms.

And I thought I didn't cry anymore.

The Unending Buffet

This is the routine into which work has settled. I have my access badge now, so I get in around 7:15, at least an hour before my boss (?) G. shows up. I'm also there several hours before J. and N.G. arrive. I go around, turning on the lights. They aren't automated, as I'd originally thought/despaired. I get my free coffee and ice water in paper cups. Really Big Pharma is obsessed with Being Green, to the point where they have bins for compostable stuff in the cafeteria. I settle in to work and when I have work to do, have several hours of hard concentration available to me.

G. usually arrives around 8:30. He hastily eats two apples, drinks a cup of tea, and is off on a day-long round of meetings, breaking only to come back long enough to eat another apple. Everyone trickles in eventually. So far, I get along with everyone except for one person - RuPaul. That's not her name, of course, but it's close enough to her real name. She has dismissed me out of hand as a being of a lower order. It was explained to me that she is undergoing several hardships at the moment, so much so that she only works in the office two days a week, working from home the other days. It might explain her treatment of me, but it doesn't make it right.

Around 10:00, my stomach starts to rumble, so I have a snack to quiet it down. Around 12:30, J, a very petite young woman, comes over to me and says, "Lunch?" Yes, please. So everyone in my corral/cubicle and the corral/cubicle across the aisle grabs their packed lunch and heads downstairs to the cafeteria.

There is a beautiful walled patio outside of the caf, and that's where we eat most days. Yes, I am no longer exiled to eat at my desk, but welcomed to eat with both groups. We fill a big table sometime to the point of overflow, but this isn't unusual. In the caf, I see tables pulled together to accommodate 15 or more.

Now begins the buffet. I pull out my humble pbj sandwich while the others pull out glass containers full of freshly made Indian food. This is why I'm the first one in - everyone else is cooking in the morning to have fresh food for lunch. Yes, this includes some of the men. Then everyone passes around various dishes. I have learned that N.G. is my favorite cook. Her food is spice-filled but not hot. J.'s food is so hot, it gives me hiccups. I take a small portion and put it on a paper saucer, then eat. I have to say, pbj's are beginning to pale for me.

There is much conversation at lunch, most of it in Hindi. Sometimes, things are translated for my benefit. I have a feeling something is lost in translation but laugh when expected anyway. I wouldn't want to get to the point where I'm excluded from lunch.

This means a great deal to me. Having no family and few local friends, I'm accustomed to eating on my own. It's taken this to make me realize what a lonely experience it could be if I had to go back to doing it every day.

So all in all, things are looking up. Now I just have to make sure I get paid. And I need more work. More work! Lots more work! Please! No more reading documents, but writing them instead. I've been there just a few days over a month. I value this too much to jeopardize it.

One added benefit is the display of Really Big Pharma's more popular products, including their all-purpose pain reliever in handy jug-size dispensers and the half-price Slimy Patch. I have been using the Patches on my mysteriously sprained ribs and am on the road to recovery. Actually, I think I sprained my ribs because of RBP's "bring your own device" policy, which means I have to carry my laptop home and to work every day.

But how I do run on.

The Pain, the Pain

Going on week three with Really Big Pharma. I still don't have access to the building without an escort. How the systems work are a mystery to me and because Really Big Pharma is, in fact, really big, looking for files in their system is like looking for a gold necklace tossed into the Grand Canyon. Good luck with that.

I learned Friday that I have a lot of on-boarding reading to do. The first document I opened was 75 pages long. And there's a quiz at the end. I also learned, according to Team Lead, that I will be updating hundreds of documents. It nearly made me swoon, but I bucked up when I thought about job security.

One thing that's been troubling me has been the spreading pain I have in my back. It started at the middle-right part of my back and has been marching along to the left, but never quits aching where it began. I don't know if this is because of my new duty as personal pack mule or the chair I sit in at work.

I'm going to see "The Dark Tower" today, mostly because I hope those snazzy recliner seats will help my back.

The pain responds only mildly to any OTC meds I take. The building cafeteria has a shelf unit full of company products, so I bought a jug of their most popular acetaminophen product for half price of what it would be in Walgreens. I should buy some muscle rub, too, and try heat when I'm at home.

This has led me to going to bed extra early and nothing gets done in the house. C'est dommage.

On a more positive note, I have been accepted by the group and they ask me to go to lunch with them every day. We sit outside on a beautifully landscaped, walled patio, at a great long table. Inside the cafeteria, I've seen tables pushed together to make up a banqueting table fit for 20 people.

The point of lunch for my team mates is to take a break from the day, converse, and share food. I am regularly offered bits of various delicacies and always accept them. It has been noted that I am left handed, so one woman rolls up a bit of food in a roti (bread) and hands it to me (I use my right hand). The first food I tried was so hot, a minute after eating it, I let go with a tremendous hiccup and we all laughed about it.

There is no talk about work that I can tell and that's welcome. We usually take the whole hour for lunch and one person will make a move to get up and we all rise in unison. It's a welcome break in the middle of the day.

So far, so good. Fingers crossed.

Yes, the pay is not so good, but I feel welcome and accepted here as I haven't since my first programming job many years ago. It may well be worth the dip in pay as I've realized how lonely I was in my last gig.

Which of These is Not Like the Others?

I started my new job last Tuesday.

It pays $20K less than my old job did. Ouch.

It hasn't been easy. Everyone but me is Indian or Chinese, but mostly Indian. (Sorry if this isn't making too much sense. I slept poorly last night.) As opposed to Ali at my old company, most of these folks are new immigrants with very thick accents. I only found out the name of my team lead by asking him to spell out his name.

Remarkably, I have been asked to join the group for lunch. This cuts into my reading time, but it's a sacrifice I'm prepared to make to have the companionship. 99% of the conversation at lunch - and at work - is in Hindi. Someone has to be speaking directly to me to talk in English. No, this isn't going to be easy.

The first week was spent getting my system set up so I can access email and the folders I'm going to need to work. I still don't have a building access badge, so I have to wait for Team Lead to get in before going into the office.

I think there must have been an almighty lawsuit against Big Pharma about who is and who isn't an employee. There is a BYOD plan in place. This means, bring your own device, whether it be phone, tablet, or computer. Nothing is allowed to remain in the building overnight, which means I have to lug my laptop to and from work everyday. I may be a technical writer, but I am also a pack mule. Along with my handbag and lunch bag, I also have to carry in my laptop. I am lucky that I was able to get the laptop on loan from my contracting company. Otherwise, I would have had to use my own crumbling laptop or buy (!) a new one.

As Marianne in the movie of "Sense and Sensibility" said, to paraphrase, I may have a job, but I believe I have it on very hard terms.

The Black Dog at the Doorstep

I've been dealing with depression for the past week or so. It was particularly bad yesterday.

The job I was stalling on...what a SNAFU that has been! I met my potential boss's boss at the client, but not before he had done a no-show. That's right, I polished myself up and put on my best suit, only to be told that he had been called away to a meeting at another location and would meet me the following day, same bat-time.

I have learned that I will be paid monthly and that hurts like a bitch.

Sorry this is going to be disorganized. Thank you for dealing, if you dare.

I got an email from the recruiter yesterday, telling me that I had - a month on after this began - passed my background check and now I needed to fill out this list of forms, provide a copy of the first and last page of my passport, and two copies of passport sized photos. Dafuq? I'd already sent that information. Because I'd been off my antidepression meds, this sent me soaring into a rage that I could not calm all day. Even today, I'm pretty annoyed by it.

I have started back on the antidepressants, but it will be several days before I can trust myself to make a decision on anything - except this. I will respond to their email but I have had enough of the reindeer games and I'm going back strongly into job search mode.

Emma has also been deeply depressed lately and her mood has influenced mine to the point where the next-to-last time I talked to her, I found myself telling her loudly that I had to get off the phone. She misunderstood and thought a recruiter was calling me. After I calmed down, I lied to her and told her it was a recruiter with a gig in NYC.

This morning as I was having my coffee, I thought, I should do something that brings me joy or at least calms me down. I asked myself what that might be and found that there was nothing. I've learned over recent days that clonazepam calms me down, but there's a price to be paid if I take too much, so that's off the menu.

I don't leave the house. Well, for good reason over the past couple of days with air quality and heat advisories in effect. In the house, there is, as always, much to be done, but I don't do it. I've come to realize that I'm the laziest person I have ever known and yet do nothing about it and that, I suppose is true laziness.

If you've read this far, kudos and thanks to you. Sometimes even I don't want to be in my head. But better in than out, I suppose.

Stalling

I am currently in the most bizarre position of my job-hunting life. I have a job offer - remember the one that supposedly offered me an instant job? Yeah, that one. The background check is like something the CIA would dream up. I didn't like it, but I forked over copies of my W2s for 2016 and 2015. Those were all I had on hand, or so I thought. The contracting company wanted them back to 2010.

Then there was the drug screening. We all know the drill there.

Then there was the request for every single person who had been my supervisor over the last ten years. Honestly, I've been through a lot of jobs. I can't remember what I was even doing for Really Big Bank and Really Big Insurance. Truly, I can't. I tried calling the number for the law firm I'd worked for, only to learn it's now a non-working number.

But all of this has been okay. The insta-job? Let's say what I was making most recently was X. Insta-job pays X minus 12 per hour. Ouch! In the meantime, I have been approached for various jobs. This includes one working back with Really Big Insurance, which pays X plus 1 per hour. I had an inquiry yesterday for a job that paid X minus 5 per hour. Certainly better than minus 12 per hour.

So I haven't exactly been rushing to get to the minus 12 job although I've made sure that all my efforts to get information to the contracting company show evidence of willingness and good faith.

Still, if plus 1 comes a calling, I will answer sweetly.

What I have learned is that a lot of companies think I should be grateful simply to be working in  my chosen field, which they somehow considered The Arts. This is how they think they can get away with paying me X minus 12. Insta-job is with Really Big, Big Pharma, and they are notorious for paying poorly because they have a billion dollar settlement to make with consumers. There are some like Really Big Insurance who understand that professionals must be paid a commensurate living wage. I appreciate that because it shows that they value what the employee (or consultant in this case) can bring to the company.

So yes, I have been stalling with Really Big, Big Pharma, in hopes that Really Big Insurance comes through. Fingers crossed, kiddos.

The State Birthday

Hey, if the Queen of England can have one, why can't I?

My real birthday is someday this week but because of identity theft, I have lied about my real birthday for years. I chose June 18 because it's close enough to my real birthday to remember and also, mostly, fangirling here, it's Paul McCartney's birthday.

As mentioned before, when married, my birthday celebration (as did my ex's) went on for an entire month. Now I get a day out of it but on the days around it, I do nice but inexpensive things for myself. Such as today. When I was on my manic spending spree last year, I bought myself a bunch of candles. The other day, I dug out the honeysuckle-scented one and it is heavenly. This morning I had my coffee and seem to plan on spending the entire day in my pajamas.

My best treat to myself is getting a five year diary from Levenger, a store room of Heaven to all those who are avid readers and writers. This one is covered in humble burlap but is boxed in an olive-gold container. I suppose because I'm starting it in the middle of the year, it's a 4 1/2 year diary.

I also bear good news.

I have a job offer. I even have an offer letter. The salary is a shocking $20K less than what I was making, but still survivable. Barely. Maybe I'll be driving for Uber on my weekends. I had applied for this job - and all jobs - online. I traded emails with a recruiter about it. It's for Ultra Big Pharma Known For Paying Crap.

Last Wednesday, I went out to run some errands, chief among them to buy books on interviewing because my interview skills are miserable. (When someone asks me to tell them about myself, I always want to start out with the opening line of "The Jerk" - "I was born a poor black child." And then I tell myself that was very naughty, indeed, Becs and move on.) I also had some "Silver Shimmer" shampoo, conditioner, and mousse to brighten up my gray hair, which I think is perfectly fine, thank you.

Just as I turned onto a secondary road, my phone rang. This is the second time in my life that I've answered the phone while driving. A guy said, "This is Richard from XYZ Consulting. You've been corresponding with Sharon about Obscenely Big Pharma," I said yes, of course. He went on. "You're going to think this is the weirdest phone call you ever got in your life."

And I thought, buster, you have no idea who you're talking to.

He said, "What if I said OBP wants you, sight unseen, as soon as you pass the security check?"

He was probably a little disappointed when I replied something along the lines of "How delightful!"

Thus began the chase, my paper chase to the library to print, scan, and copy things. Futile efforts to fill my bladder for a drug screen. Well, they got enough, so done is done. It seemed to take the whole week instead of lasting a matter of days. And I still don't know what day I start.

And instantly, instantly I tell you, it began raining jobs. That afternoon I got a call from a recruiter from Big Utility Company, telling me I had been shortlisted for a job. The next morning, I got a call from a recruiter from the Royal Bank of Somewhere. Nice money, too. THEN I got a call from Big Engineering. I also had to do a video interview (very odd) with American Engineering.

My friend Melissa the Mole has been praying for me and I told her maybe she needed to ease up for now, but she said no, not until I called her on the first afternoon home from my new job.

Should I get a call that I need to start this week, I'm taking myself out for my birthday. There will either be cheesecake or steak involved. Depending on how much time I have available, it may be both.

PS. I would like to send out a huge thank you to you know who you are who gifted the kitties with two months worth of food. They have no sense of gratitude, but I do.

The Great Binge of 2017

Because I now have unlimited data on my phone, I've been binging heartily on Netflix. I watch "Mad Men", "Royal Pains", all kinds of "20/20" like shows about murder and disappearances, and lately "Untold Secrets of the ER". It turns out that Emma has also been binging on "ER" as well.

On "ER", the shows seem to focus on ridiculous things men have done with their penis. One guy got his stuck in a camp stove. ("Hey, the knob was missing." Well, obviously then, you must put your penis in that hole.) Another guy had a vibrator stuck up his butt. He insisted on paying cash and not using any insurance. Luckily, he just happened to have $12,000 cash on him. He didn't want his name attached to any paperwork. Stunned, the doctors and hospital administrator found a way to charge him a cash price. Hence the $12K fee. At the end, the narrator said the vibrator was removed but offered no details.

When it first came out and was popular, I didn't watch "Mad Men" but I'm now watching the talented Lothario, Don Draper, screw himself most horrifyingly on his descent from a high place in 1960s Madison Avenue. Sometimes it strikes a little close to home because of his job reversals and like mine, are self-inflicted. I can't understand his "must conquer all" approach to sex. Even at my youngest and most pert, I would not let myself fall into the conquest trap. I don't understand him. And I don't understand why all the women have to be trim and slim and the men can have paunches. Even Don could stand to lose about 30 pounds.

"Royal Pains" is a very sweet show. It's about a New York doctor who had reached a nadir in his young life and found the world of concierge medicine in the Hamptons. All the people are young and attractive and slim with the exception of the mysterious "Boris", played thrillingly by Campbell Scott. He appears tall, imposing, somewhat regal, and has a lovely English accent (he's American). I like this because the world is so fantastical. It doesn't seem possible that so many people could be so rich, but apparently they are.

I also watch the occasional one-off documentary.

I get frustrated with the murder mystery shows. One recurring thing said by victims' relatives is "People don't just disappear." Au contraire. One of the first sentences in the book Outlander (all hail Diana Gabaldon) is that "People disappear all the time." So many murders with bodies never to be found. People can just disappear.

In other news...
I have had a couple of close, happy calls with the potential for an interview. Too bad none of them have come to fruition. I now have an appointment with the Unemployment Office for an interview coming up quite soon. I haven't done a very good job of keeping up my contacts spreadsheet, so must work on that today and tomorrow.

I'm teaching myself Photoshop. It's a frequent requirement on the tech writer job ads I see and somehow in my life, have managed to never learn it. So I plunked down the money for the software and a "Dummies" book. I'm gradually making my way through that.

Toby, one of the Wild Children cats, actually sat on my lap yesterday. I was so stunned I barely breathed for fear of freaking him out. He seems to have an unending war with Sophie, one of the Elders, possibly disputing who is the fluffiest.

Realizing Discrimination and the New Job Hunting Process

Over the last three weeks, I have realized that age discrimination in the workplace is a very real thing. I got a bunch of calls the first week I put my resume out there. The minute I entered the date of my college graduation in the late 1970s, I turned into ebola on the hoof. I haven't had any calls last week and only a few the week before.

At least back in the day, as frustrating as it was, you could pound the pavement, going door to door, searching the want ads in the local newspaper. When I came back from my last semester in college, the following Monday I took the bus downtown and started filling out applications. Within a week or two, I had three job offers. I decided not to go with the church secretary position because, being exposed to Emma for three months, I had developed a swearing habit that would make a Marine blanch. I went with the bookstore because, duh, that's where my heart is. I didn't learn until later that it was the publishing arm of the United Methodist Church.

I can't hit the pavement anymore. Now I have to go through various gyrations to get my resume to any organization and they always involve a middleman/consulting company. I'm interested in working for Pharma Co. A. I looked on their website. They don't even have a "careers" tab anymore. I am on my own. I've heard that in certain non-entertainment industries (in entertainment, age discrimination is sadly a widespread reality) hitting your 30s and 40s makes you vulnerable to age discrimination.

I can file for early retirement next month. Dr. A. exclaimed, "How can you even think of it! I'd go out of my mind with boredom." Not me. Is my house cleaner? No. Have I painted any rooms? No. Do I have TV? I have Netflix and a cable connection. Have I been bored one day? Absolutely not. Aside from that great time-suck, Facebook, I have managed to keep myself entertained and busy. I have the library's latest schedule of events. If I wanted, I could be busy nearly every evening of the week.

But I would have to move hastily from New Jersey to the backwoods of northern Georgia.

I'm not ready for that.

Besides, it's only been three weeks. So far, I've been very careful with my money. BTW, don't have any health insurance. It would take up half of my Unemployment Insurance and the other half would go to my house payment, leaving me with nothing to pay for utilities.

I try to console myself that it's early days yet. But that doesn't make me very comfortable.

At the Beggars' Gate

I found myself standing outside in the grim, grizzly weather on Wednesday, waiting for the doors of the food pantry to open. I hadn't learned the ropes yet and was chastised for trying to cut into line (I wasn't, I promise). Once allowed in, I was greeted with kindness. I also walked out of there with more groceries than I usually get on a normal shopping trip.

A lady was assigned to me to go around the small room and point out to me how much of what I could take. Once more, Costco is bounteous in its donations. I got a big tray of cookies. Little did I know that my guide was filling up sacks behind me to make sure that I got my fair share. Query: What does one do with cranberry sauce without turkey? Hm. Please forward any suggestions.

I did have an inquiry for a job that's two hours' commute each way. The company is sensible enough to know most people won't go for it. I'm still torn about it, but am hesitant because I don't want the cats to be traumatized without me for most of the week. The employer offers free room and board because they know that most people aren't willing to make that commute every day, although I knew two guys (father and son) who made that journey every single day from the next town over during my time at Drug Panderers, Inc. Still, I'm mostly inclined to say no.

The cats are getting accustomed to seeing me around during the day. They still sleep most of the day, but Blue is sure to wake me up at 4:45 a.m. every day.

Praise be, I got my Federal income tax refund today. I'll deposit it tomorrow morning. I have nothing to do other than the usual house cleaning, laundry, etc. tomorrow. I considered to going back to roam Walmart, but I feared that would only end in sorrow.

Some good news: I've lost about 15 lbs between the beginning of the year and now. I'm doing the protein shake thing in the morning. I don't know what havoc will be wreaked by the Costco cookies.

The food isn't exactly of utmost quality but beggars can't be choosers, ya know.

The Nuclear Option

I am going to be vulgar and discuss money.

Right now, I have a very handy $1,700 in my checking account. I am also $18,000 in debt on my home equity line of credit with not much further to go than that with my HELOC. Virtually nothing in savings.

My mortgage payment is $1,200 / month.

I have Unemployment Insurance of $17,000 available to me in weekly chunks of $650, but that won't start until May 3.

I have nothing of value to sell. At the moment, I am not going to go back into pet sitting or having a roommate. If I got a part time job, that could extend the money available to me. I'm thinking retail although I know I don't have the physical stamina to do it.

So the nuclear option, the drop the big one now option, is getting rid of most of my crap, packing up the remnants and putting it into storage, and moving in with Cousin Kay in Richmond. I haven't mentioned it to her yet. I think I'm waiting for clearer signals. After all, it's only been a week. I've had three phone calls of interest (one offered me $17/hour less than what I had been making and I can't live on that, roommate or no roommate). I need to get back to them because I think the people who had been interested went with another candidate and I want to know officially if that's the case.

I have considered suicide but I won't do it unless I know the cats are squared away. And must talk with Dr. A and with a priest.

I've also done all kinds of practical things. I can go to the local food pantry tomorrow. My phone bill has been immediately sliced in half. The garbage pickup company has reduced my rate somewhat. Comcast gave me bupkis. I am considering getting rid of that but that's my only job hunting resource. Yes, I can go to the library and Panera. It's still an option.

Although it's chilly in the house this morning at 64 degrees, I have turned off the heat and told myself to like it or lump it.

I could retire in June but the money available to me wouldn't be enough to cover my expenses here. I would still have to move.

I have a good support system. My pal from the old, old workplace, Emma, the Queen Bee and especially the Prince Consort who is giving me all kinds of great pointers about interviewing techniques.

Oddly, I don't feel sorry for myself. I feel like I'm looking at things objectively. I could live like this for maybe another three months, then drastic action must be taken.

Oh, must finish my will first. Who gets how much of this piece of pathetic pie? I feel like all I would leave behind are debts.

Maybe I will drop the big one. But not just yet.

This 'n' That

I have resumed my position as neighborhood pariah. Bob the Builder and Bro took down the fence on Tuesday, the day after the zoning inspector nixed their Towering Fence of Babylon.

Oh, nothing's happened. I just figured I'm back to my normal space. The world is in order again.

Went to Easter Mass. My favorite priest was the celebrant and the church was filled with flowers. Lovely. I should have gone to Easter vigil services as well.

As I do when I'm unemployed, I went to Mass this morning. It makes me feel better and gives me an impetus to start my day by a certain time. It gets me out of the bed and into the shower. I come home, plan my day, and take off from there.

Here's a problem. Here's a BIG problem. I love being at home. Just this morning, I've sketched out a job search scheme, IMed a pal about a job search question, changed the sheets, folded a load of laundry, put another load in the dryer, put another load in the washer. In days of yore (like last Saturday), it would take me a weekend of dragging my sorry old ass around the house, complaining mentally the whole time about totin' de weary load.

Obviously, this has to change.

I think I'll approach this by setting a timer and seeing how much of a task I can get done in, say, ten minutes. That'll teach me that changing the sheets is not a Sisyphean task. Ten, fifteen minutes max and that includes stuffing the old ones into the dryer.

There were no tearful good-byes at Old Work Place. It fades quickly in the rear view mirror. I didn't expect to get taken out to lunch and I wasn't. Tainted blood, that's me. I left with no regrets in my heart. Emma snorted. "It's not like you've never done this before."

I did have an interview over a week ago. It was a disaster and I didn't even want it. It was at a very big bank I'd worked for before. I couldn't even remember what I'd done while I was there. Nothing. Must contact old work bud and see what she says. She's young enough to have a good memory. And hasn't been through as many employers as I have.

So this morning, as I do when unemployed, I have a date with the knitters group at the local Barnes and Noble. I'll start a new project. That's my admission ticket to get in. A crocheted scarf in red fancy yard in a very simple pattern. I haven't touched a crochet project since the debacle last summer.

Must review the resume and get things tacked back up on indeed.com, Dice.com, etc.

I imagine while I have the oomph not taken out of me by work, I may write more in here. But I don't have a long time on unemployment and I'll write soon about The Nuclear Option.

I Am No Longer the Neighborhood Pariah

That honor has now been given to Bob the Indian, my next-door-sideways neighbor.

Yesterday afternoon, I heard heavy equipment outside my house and went to find Bob and his brother wrangling with a post hole digger. The hell? thought I.

I leaned out the door to mention they were getting a little close to my property line and was swatted away like a fly. Bob's family lounged in my driveway and on the front lawn. No, I did not yell "Get off my lawn".

I watched in disbelief and mild horror as Bob and Bro put up posts for a six foot tall chain link fence. Later after it got dark, I went out to examine it. Yep, that's pretty tall.

Was utterly gobsmacked when Stash rang my doorbell. I answered. He was smiling and being deferential, but no, Stash, I have not forgotten the last time we spoke.

"That fence is not within zoning regulations," he said. "It's unsightly."

"I know."

"It can't be within code. And they don't even have a building permit."

Oh, Stash, don't remind me of your getting your kitchen redone but not having a permit in your window.

"I'm going to call the township tomorrow."

"Me too."

And he salaamed his way out of my presence.

He kept saying, "How are you going to get your car out of the driveway?" and I thought in reply, the same way I always do, you maroon.

But I did call the township today. The fence is a monstrosity and we can't have that in Suburbia.

Oh Well, Oh Hell

I don't read signals correctly.

I just learned my last day on this gig will be April 14.

I read the signals wrong because I believed I could take a couple of days off work - to actually get away within a reasonable distance from home and enjoy myself. Obviously wrong.

So back into the job hunt, the never-ending quest. In a way, I'm not surprised. I did everything that had been asked of  me and assignments were thin on the ground. I should have seen that. Also, I had stopped writing status reports. I won't make that mistake again.

I won't go back to look for her "code" name, but my cousin from Richmond - now I'll call her Kay - and I had managed to get back together. We went to Gettysburg and had a very nice time. When I came back, there was a voice mail from the recruiter at my contracting company to call him back. I did and learned the gig is up.

Almost too good to be true, about two hours later, I got a phone call from another contracting company asking me if I was on the job market. I sent over my updated resume, some requested paperwork (can it be paperwork if no paper is involved?), and am now playing the waiting game.

I took today off work because yesterday was my Day of Rage at work. I got nothing done - yes, I still have work to do - and I figured it would be better to lose one day to decompress at home. I know it's ill advised to take off a day while I can still get paid, but so be it.

I think I have a last ditch solution. If I reach utmost desperation, I will ask Kay to give me quarter. I will put all my stuff in storage and temporarily bunk in her spare room until I land a gig in Richmond or reach retirement age. I don't want to retire so soon. It would doom me to living with Kay and I don't think either of us would want this to be a permanent arrangement.

So this is where I am now. Sometimes it sucks to be me.

The New Austerity

.I came into a small amount of money and I am ashamed to admit that I spent that and a whole lot more under the influence of a mania spree. The de-hoarders claimed a significant portion of that because they are not cheap.

So now I find myself trying to color between the lines of my income. It is not easy and I find myself turning to my Home Equity Line of Credit because I have no where else to go. I don't do credit cards and the interest on the HELOC is much cheaper than any credit card could be.

Luckily, I don't have a lot of expenditures, but I have to start keeping a tracking sheet on what gets spent and why. I live a very modest life now. I don't buy books. (No, really, I don't.) I don't go to the movies. I still have Amazon Prime and use the video streaming service from there and from Netflix.  I don't order lunch anymore but have devised a very nice way to take my lunch. The recovery of my modem and the discontinuing of my large data plan for the phone will probably cancel each other out. I will likely stop getting Peapod deliveries and continue going to Walmart for groceries and follow a strict list. No impulse buys!

Clothing I have aplenty after last year's spending spree. I've had a lot of work done on the house, but of course, more awaits.

I was watching the series "The Night Manager" (potential spoiler) where one of the characters seems to walk away unscathed physically and ends up with all the money that had been in play, a $300 million deal.  I wondered if he patriotically returned it to the Authorities, but I hoped in my larcenous heart that he got to keep it.

As I do when the lottery prize hits an absurd number, I started to think about what I would do with that much money. I am disappointingly non-avaricious. I get to paying off my debts, including my mortgage, and buying a new car, but I don't get much beyond that. Someone could probably buy me off with a hundred grand. How un-American of me.

What Do I Say After I Say Hello?

My church runs a meal program once a month. I can tell just by looking at the organizer's eyes that it pains her that we can't do it more than once a month. But we also run a food pantry.

I used it when I was between jobs. Costco is extremely generous with their baked goods. Extremely.

This past week, I went directly from work instead of stopping at my house, which is on the way.

I'm glad I did. I was in a mood so that if I came into the house, I would have stayed in the house.

I got there a little after the spiffing up begin in the lunchroom. This is in the now-defunct grammar school's lunch room, so it's crazy loud. There are some kind of acetate covers on the tables and cute hand-made centerpieces. I don't suppose they would lower the lighting if they could. There are lots of kids and lots of elder folk.

This was my first time on my own. I'd figured out a way to serve everyone at my table and was proud of mentally mastering the way of doing things.

The first customer was a silver haired fox who reminded me of Mickey O'Rourke. A cleaner Mickey O'Rourke. He was easy to serve because he was the first and only one to serve for about twenty minutes. Then came toothless Granpa. He was waiting for his girlfriend, but she was at work. Granpa had quite an appetite, especially since the food was so soft - ziti or lasagna for the main course. Salad and dessert from a dessert cart where Costco showed its bounty again.

I was and am also expected to socialize while we are at table and despite my uncharacteristic friendliness, was now abandoned on my usual Isle of Silence.

I couldn't ask "Where do you live?" because Mickey lived in his truck.

I couldn't ask "What do you do?" because Granpa was out on disability.

What books have you read lately? Seen any good movies? What did you think of so-and-so's interpretation of 'Hamlet' on Broadway. Even I don't know that anymore because I can't afford to go over to NYC.

Mickey got tired of waiting for his friends. He and Granpa had seconds of everything and then got takeway platters. I tried to clean up the tables but there were so many volunteers that it was done before I could look around.

Well. At least I made sure everyone at my table got enough to eat and drink. That's something.