[1160] Huff

I’m a level of “anxious” I haven’t been for quite some time. It’s partly because of coffee on a mostly empty stomach. Even acknowledging and writing that down tempered the feeling immediately, and is why I put the word anxious in quotes. I have a specific desire in writing this, to feel better, and I know how to get there, by being incredibly specific in my word choices.

I’m waiting to hear back about a job. (I learned approximately 30 minutes later I didn’t get it.) I’ve managed to back myself into another corner, and if I don’t get the job (for what would certainly be some left-field universe nut-kicking-me reason) I’m staring down the prospect of taking literally anything that hires immediately. I’ve done that and ran that experiment in the past, and I have little faith if I found myself on a production line that I would last any longer than the 2 and half days I did back then.

I had what felt like 2 good interviews. I’m not a pie-in-the-sky type who pretends things went better than they did, nor would I discount any particularly egregious missteps or misspeaking. I had a couple decent conversations with people of what appeared to be similar dispositions for roles I’m told they are fairly “desperate” to fill. I have the credentials and experience, a friend already works there, and I’ve patiently and professionally navigated an initial red flag where my second interviewer didn’t notice or show up for our first meeting.

The pause, doubt, and pain of the waiting game is tied directly to the amount of debt I’ve gotten into. It’s tied to my 2 or 3 failed attempts to get other roles or even volunteer in similar social work roles. One for certain fell apart for small-town political reasons, and I suspect another did as well. I’m one of those people who, on paper, should not have the kinds of “problems” or type of “financial insecurity” that I do.

It’s all self-imposed. I leave secure work environments when they start to degrade my sense of responsibility to values and standards. I’ve broken the dam of self-indulgence and being conservative in my spending. I’ve made bets on my ideals in starting the counseling nonprofit, LLC before that, and attempts to hire people to get them to a sustainable place. I sometimes talk about myself like, “If I could just shut up and deal, relearn how to eat time playing video games instead of leaving the house, go back to eating nothing but hotdogs and ramen for a year like in college, and just ‘be normal,’ I’d have my bills paid years in advance, all kinds of insurance, and the money to modestly explore my hobbies.”

What happens instead, is I experience too many of these heightened moments back-to-back. I find myself in a chronic state of stress as the boiling frog water inches towards cooked. I find it nearly impossible to justify any given moment of my day. I play in the dramatic and despotic dialogues of colleagues who all have their take on why they’re stuck dealing with the inadequate support, pay, or basic dignity.

I am properly exhausted by a “look on the bright side” or “of course they’ll hire you!” narratives. Anything that smells of hope is extremely off-putting. Anything that tries to matter-of-factly describe my potential or worth is off the table. Any remotely positive impression I get from someone I haven’t known for longer than an hour is beyond suspect. So much of my interactions contribute to this deep and gaping hole at the heart of my ability to trust things that “should” go a certain way, ever will.

I’m not the first person to complain about job hunting. I’m not on the verge of being homeless. I’m not interested in making a dozen qualifying statements about my privileges and options.

I want to fit. I just want to fit. I think it’s incredibly stupid to exist in this society that’s constantly swinging from crazy presumptive talking point to the next, bastardizing all language, and pulling up drawbridges after our luck nets the right status. I don’t want to sacrifice every waking minute of my life with thoughts consumed by work for the hour or 2 a month to myself or 2 weeks vacation. I don’t want to keep playing dress-up as though there aren’t sincere and capable ways we could be using resources and rewarding those with the capacity to efficiently execute the task.

I’m so fucking angry, all the time. It doesn’t matter how many fun things I go to. It doesn’t matter how creative I get with a woodworking project or song. It doesn’t matter how much I write. I’m so. fucking. angry.

I can learn how to incorporate abuses from the past. I can swallow all kind of logistic shit when it comes to trying something new or coordinating with someone. I can stomach the darkness and ambivalence of life broadly. I’ve never been able to drop my fundamental anger. I know that because when the “perfect storm” of circumstances highlight the details and history that inform the anger, it’s like I’m the helpless child getting wailed on growing up all over again.

And it’s fucking STUPID. Nothing should be this hard or complicated, and it’s not. If we actually gave a fuck, it would not be this hard and stupid. It doesn’t need to be some series of abstract parables passed down through time. It doesn’t need to be abstracted economic equations pretending at bottom there’s rational actors with perfect information. We don’t have to celebrate greed. We don’t have to cross our fingers fascism versus any alternative isn’t a “toss up.” We don’t have to do any of the shit that makes it so we all suffer the same shit, but a handful complain about it, and the rest try to get them to shut up and deal like they are.

The point is, you’re not dealing. You’re not dealing any better than I am. 48.5 million Americans battled a substance use disorder in the past year. That’s 16.7% of the population, or close to 1 in 5 if you consider how many people hide and pretend. That means whether it is you, or someone in your family, everyone is chronically coping in a series of unhealthy ways that permeate through families and work environments. What if a fifth of your body didn’t work? Or your brain? Or the words you use? Every fifth one just drops or confuses and steers the conversation awry. 41.9% of Americans are obese. Almost half are not the type to take the stairs, let alone entertain the vicissitudes of class struggle. “We” don’t have the inclination or headspace to even google “vicissitudes.”

I feel like a fucking joke and failure. Not because I actually am, but because I suffer my idealism and let that shit play out in dramatic ways when it comes to accounting for practical shit. I could’ve worked harder to find something remote and paying even peanuts. I could’ve looked harder for something part-time. I could’ve leaned into efforts advertising and side-hustling. These are the thoughts you can suffocate under as though you didn’t have reasons and feelings and obligations every moment you weren’t attending to fixing the latest issue.

I’m constantly trying to remind myself and others that it’s never “either/or.” No situation is all bad or good. No decisions come without strings. No moment can you confidently claim the sum total of knowledge and potential about it. Those are brute facts that should temper any enthusiasm for belaboring the worst version of the story you tell yourself. I still don’t know shit, and never will. I’ve made long-term friends from “bad” work environments. I’ve gained perspective and demonstrated persistent resilience. I’d rather have money and hopes not consistently betrayed.