Like most of the workforce, I loved the weekend and was a bit blue about returning to work on Mondays, even though I loved my job at the newspaper. Now I get depressed as the weekend approaches and more hopeful as the new work week starts.
The main reason is, as the week winds down and I don’t hear from any perspective employers, well, that’s just sad. I keep telling myself I’ll hear something on Monday, when those companies to which I applied will finally get back to me. If not Monday, then Tuesday. As Tuesday comes and goes, for sure on Wednesday, no? Well, there’s still two more days. But, really, after Thursday, I kind of give up, figuring people pretty much shut down on Friday as their gear up for their time off. Of course, for me, everyday is a weekend.
So I fill the time looking for work, blogging (hoping someone will recognize my skills and contact me for a creative position), doing chores, fooling around on the ukulele. Looks like it’s time for another song.
What’s especially frustrating — and I know this wounds like a combination of whining and false modesty — but I often hear from friends who are astonished that I’m having such a hard time, given my track record as a writer/author. They don’t understand why I don’t just march into The New York Times or Star-Ledger and, boom, “You’re hired!” (Of course, they say that; that’s why they’re my friends.)
Another day older and deeper in debt.