One Long WednesdayPeople with jobs think that being unemployed is like a constant weekend. You sleep in, don't dress, hang out, go to bed late and catch up on all your reading, according to popular wisdom. And sure, you do these things. But you've got no context for these activities, nothing to look forward to except the work of finding work.
When you're unemployed, every day is one long Wednesday.
Things get flat and complicated, all at once. Speaking of complications, here's one:
My primary outlet for my writing and my feelings is this blog. This is, to a greater or lesser extent, where it all comes out in squalid and, I would hope, entertaining detail.
However, I am looking for a job. This whole pitching a TV show thing is awesome, but unfortunately you don't get paid to pitch. The very little I understand about pitching is this: it's not like pitching a baseball. Or a softball. It's more like pitching a watermelon to Mark McGwire and hoping that he misses -- or that you stay dry. So I'm looking for paying gigs without giving up the dream.
Somebody, somewhere, finds this blog by Googling my name several times a day. It's increased since I've started looking for work. If it is possible to dooce one's self, it's certainly possible to preemptively dooce one's self, too ... to blog yourself out of an initial phone call. All it takes is one post to wrinkle the wrong person, and they just don't call you.
It's like this, readers. Most of you are my friends. But a lot of you aren't. You've never met me, and you never will. Some of you think you know me, really well, based entirely on what you read here. And to some extent it's flattering. I've worked really hard to develop a conversational voice, to use bits of my life to entertain people and establish some sort of warm connection through a cold collection of pixels.
So when some of you offer me unsolicited lifestyle advice (I know I spend too much time online, thanks, I feel great), or input on how to handle my relationship with my sister via IM or whatever, I guess I should take it as a compliment.
I don't though. Keep that shit to yourselves. I know you just want to help, but damn, it drives me NUTS.
You don't know a person by their blog posts any more than you know a tree by its dead leaves in the gutter. And that's the big illusion of public availability right there -- you think you know someone based on their carefully constructed facade, and WOW are things different in person. Good employees get sacked, bad writers get praised, and ugly people with Photoshop skills get first dates like never before.
Did you know that Bing Crosby beat his wife?
So I'm feeling kinda cramped right now. My grandpa's sick, I got no job and the bills are piling up. Blogging in detail about tough times (or anything, ever, period, if you ask media lawyers) opens me up to the judgment of a million strangers, some of whom control purse strings that I really want to fondle between my own grubby little digits. Or it makes me look like a whiner.
A couple of you have mentioned my posting drought to me, and I appreciate the concern. That's the deal, and what I'm dealing with.
But here's my question: Is there stuff in this blog that would shut me out of a job I need? Is it wise to shut up just because you're scared of losing opportunities? Is it right to live with your soul muzzled so you can keep as many doors open as possible?
You know, I think I know the answer to that last one.