The unemployment taco, or Broke-itosis
- .Lucy.
- Posts: 285
- Joined: May 27th, 2009, 11:40 am
- Location: Stuck between a conundrum and a metaphor
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The unemployment taco, or Broke-itosis
I decided to leave my job.
It was a decision long coming. I have projects here left to finish, reports that need concluding so I put in a month's notice, and ensured in my letter of resignation, I would stay on to train whomever was taking on my position. Seeing as how they have yet to find someone and only two weeks remain, my time here may overlap from my original end date.
The day I resigned was a beautiful one, and when I walked into work that day, I knew what I had to do. The weeks previous to my decision had been horrible, and I realized that I no longer belonged here. The moment I said those words, I felt the weight pressed against me lift, and the burden disolved.
It was momentary freedom.
On the train back home, the clarity of realization hit me: I was soon going to be unemployed. Broke and jobless. Yes, I'd been applying to jobs non-stop for weeks, but in this economic climate, the competition is stiffer than an old man on viagra.
Suddenly the taste of freedom turned sour. The harsh reality of my decision left a weird flavor in my mouth. I'd taken a huge bite out of the funky unemployed taco, and my tongue was coated with its unpleasant glaze.
I felt myself shake, wondering whether I'd been too rash in leaving a job that though I despised, was still bringing me some kind of income, despite it being part-time. I deliberated, knowing well that I'd thought my decision over beforehand and had balanced everything out. I know I need something more, something full time and stable, something better- and if I dared to dream, perhaps something in my field.
Yet I'd also come to terms with the idea that I will probably end up as a administrative assistant or receptionist, and I'm okay with that; because when it comes down to it, writers rarely make a living off their craft and who doesn't need to make money to pay the bills?
It's a compromise you must make in life. Not everything you want is attainable, and even through hard work and discipline, some things may never be within your reach. I accept it and plow through it, the immigrant work ethic of my parents heavily engrained in me, but it is unmistakenly woven with that American ideal of "anything is possible". The timbre of my mama's voice rings clearly within me, she knows I can achieve anything if I work hard and believe in myself. So I dream, aspire to perhaps getting into grant writing and helping others, but I also continue to apply to basic office jobs, knowing, realistically, it might be the only thing I get that pays decently and offers me benefits.
Yes, benefits. I am only 27, but youth doesn't last forever. And when the hell is the right time to stand up and say: "You know what? I want MORE!"
Surely, I don't think I'm asking for too much. I've often been told I'm overqualified for positions I've applied to, and yet too inexperienced for others, so somehow the struggle to find the right job seems to grow heavier every year post-graduation. Three years and counting, I have yet to find anything that offers me a viable income. I do, after all, aspire to be independent, perhaps one day own something, like a used car or a small humble home. So who cares if I work a job that doesn't stimulate me so long as I have the means to entertain myself after hours doing what I love?
Another 2 weeks left here, with a possibilty of a few more when I train my replacement. Thus far, I have been called back for a few interviews for interesting positions in non-profits, which gives me hope that I may find something, a job that will fulfill me as a human and as writer, and that I can make a difference in the lives of others.
I can only hope, of course.
-L
7-17-09
It was a decision long coming. I have projects here left to finish, reports that need concluding so I put in a month's notice, and ensured in my letter of resignation, I would stay on to train whomever was taking on my position. Seeing as how they have yet to find someone and only two weeks remain, my time here may overlap from my original end date.
The day I resigned was a beautiful one, and when I walked into work that day, I knew what I had to do. The weeks previous to my decision had been horrible, and I realized that I no longer belonged here. The moment I said those words, I felt the weight pressed against me lift, and the burden disolved.
It was momentary freedom.
On the train back home, the clarity of realization hit me: I was soon going to be unemployed. Broke and jobless. Yes, I'd been applying to jobs non-stop for weeks, but in this economic climate, the competition is stiffer than an old man on viagra.
Suddenly the taste of freedom turned sour. The harsh reality of my decision left a weird flavor in my mouth. I'd taken a huge bite out of the funky unemployed taco, and my tongue was coated with its unpleasant glaze.
I felt myself shake, wondering whether I'd been too rash in leaving a job that though I despised, was still bringing me some kind of income, despite it being part-time. I deliberated, knowing well that I'd thought my decision over beforehand and had balanced everything out. I know I need something more, something full time and stable, something better- and if I dared to dream, perhaps something in my field.
Yet I'd also come to terms with the idea that I will probably end up as a administrative assistant or receptionist, and I'm okay with that; because when it comes down to it, writers rarely make a living off their craft and who doesn't need to make money to pay the bills?
It's a compromise you must make in life. Not everything you want is attainable, and even through hard work and discipline, some things may never be within your reach. I accept it and plow through it, the immigrant work ethic of my parents heavily engrained in me, but it is unmistakenly woven with that American ideal of "anything is possible". The timbre of my mama's voice rings clearly within me, she knows I can achieve anything if I work hard and believe in myself. So I dream, aspire to perhaps getting into grant writing and helping others, but I also continue to apply to basic office jobs, knowing, realistically, it might be the only thing I get that pays decently and offers me benefits.
Yes, benefits. I am only 27, but youth doesn't last forever. And when the hell is the right time to stand up and say: "You know what? I want MORE!"
Surely, I don't think I'm asking for too much. I've often been told I'm overqualified for positions I've applied to, and yet too inexperienced for others, so somehow the struggle to find the right job seems to grow heavier every year post-graduation. Three years and counting, I have yet to find anything that offers me a viable income. I do, after all, aspire to be independent, perhaps one day own something, like a used car or a small humble home. So who cares if I work a job that doesn't stimulate me so long as I have the means to entertain myself after hours doing what I love?
Another 2 weeks left here, with a possibilty of a few more when I train my replacement. Thus far, I have been called back for a few interviews for interesting positions in non-profits, which gives me hope that I may find something, a job that will fulfill me as a human and as writer, and that I can make a difference in the lives of others.
I can only hope, of course.
-L
7-17-09
The road to happiness: Perseverance, Endurance and a whole lot of Hope.
- stilltrucking
- Posts: 20645
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Yet I'd also come to terms with the idea that I will probably end up as a administrative assistant or receptionist, and I'm okay with that; because when it comes down to it, writers rarely make a living off their craft and who doesn't need to make money to pay the bills?
"the written world … always revolves around the hand that is writing, ...Amos Oz
If nothing else it is something to write about, grist for the mill.
My mother told me if you can make a living doing something you enjoy doing that is about the best you can do in this world.
Best wishes Lucy
Keep the faith
- constantine
- Posts: 2677
- Joined: March 9th, 2008, 9:45 am
I'm sort in yur position at the moment, i've decided it's time to move on...i'm no longer happy where i work. So i'm looking for another job.
It's a big thing, when i get comfy i like to stay, but when i have to walk into a place where i know it's going to be a crap day, it's time to go.
Good Luck Lucy, I'm sure you will find what's right for you.
Enjoyed the read
It's a big thing, when i get comfy i like to stay, but when i have to walk into a place where i know it's going to be a crap day, it's time to go.
Good Luck Lucy, I'm sure you will find what's right for you.
Enjoyed the read

The path to true love isn't always straight.
(Uknown)
www.algonquinstable.com
(Uknown)
www.algonquinstable.com
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- Posts: 215
- Joined: April 12th, 2009, 2:46 pm
- stilltrucking
- Posts: 20645
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Happiness stinks..
You give it your best shot. Think about Ted Williams in Boston. And Ricky Nelson at his Garden Party.
I thought SAW said it well.
You give it your best shot. Think about Ted Williams in Boston. And Ricky Nelson at his Garden Party.
I thought SAW said it well.
Maybe a good time to consider finishing graduate school.the workplace can make infinite demand, so too can we make those same demands of our self......i like this introspective look at how we eternally question whether we are good enough, if we measure up, a most stressful endeavor that us humans seem to be unable to avoid....perhaps the message here is, do your best, considering all the variables of each new day.....and fuck the rest.....
http://www.studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtopic.php?t=16671
- stilltrucking
- Posts: 20645
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Please pardon the multiple replies. I don't quite trust myself on deleting anymore.
Twenty Seven
only 27 yes
27 was a tough year for me.
I used to have a feminista girl friend, she said it is a tough year for women. But that was thirty years ago, things have changed. Biological clocks are not what they used to be. We are all running on sidereal time now~
I suppose.
Twenty Seven
only 27 yes
27 was a tough year for me.
I used to have a feminista girl friend, she said it is a tough year for women. But that was thirty years ago, things have changed. Biological clocks are not what they used to be. We are all running on sidereal time now~
I suppose.
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