Black Musing's A Series of Unfortunate Events Part 3: The Store

Clearly, the wonderful city of Everett has decided I don't get nice things.

I was on a routine mission to the grocery store, a rundown shack of an Albertsons famed for the hoodlums which do a passable job of imitating Jay and Silent Bob by spending all hours of the day loitering outside its doors, doing who knows what. Knowing this neighborhood, probably selling crack to school children.

It was a quick in and out trip to pick up some melatonin; I've had trouble getting to and staying asleep for weeks now, and figured melatonin would be a better alternative to the more powerful sleep aids. I'm not a fan of the woozy, drugged sensation most sleep aids induce, especially since it usually lasts the entire duration of a work day. And as is apparent, I've been having enough troubles with work to add "drugged and drowsy" to the list. But that's a different rant entirely.

Upon exiting, I discovered that my bike, which I had locked up good and proper, had been vandalized despite my efforts. The seat post and seat were missing.

The seat and seat post.

The people in this wretched cesspool really know how to put the "petty" in petty theft. Perhaps I'm simply naive when it comes to the subject of criminal behavior, but exactly what can be gained from such an item? Unless you happen to be missing a seat post for your bike, what are you going to use a stolen one for? Is there a huge market in the seedy underworld for such items? How much money can you get at a pawn shop for a seat?

So, something has been stolen from me once again. I can't even go to a public area and park my bike for five minutes without something happening to it. I ask you, what does that say about this place? What does it say about the people that frequent it?

My lease is up in April. I count the days with bated breath.

Hunting

It begins yet again.

There are some activities that inspire nothing but dread from me. One of them is moving; packing up a bunch of junk, breaking a sweat along with your back hauling it to a new location, and then unpacking it feels like the biggest waste of time to me. I hate moving, if that wasn't clear.

The other activity I hate, the one that I am currently engaged in, is job hunting. Is there any process more demoralizing than looking for employment? Before my current nightmare- that is to say, my job- I was on unemployment for close to two years. In that period of time, I filled out close to 1000 applications, and sent my resume to countless businesses and organizations. I can count on one hand the number of actual interviews I attended. I fell into a deep funk that only the unemployed can experience. You feel a helplessness along with a bitter sense of uselessness as the days blend into weeks which blend in to months. It's a gloomy place to be in.

Now, thankfully I'm only dealing with the job hunting aspect; I'm still employed as of the moment, so that's a plus. My loathing of my current job is eclipsed only by my fear of being incapable of paying the rent, so I must use a considerable amount of willpower each shift to prevent myself from either walking out or saying something that will get me fired. Or both at the same time.

Looking back, I can pinpoint just when the job became unbearable for me. You've heard the expression "listen to your gut," right? It comes down to trusting your instincts and listening to that tiny voice in the back of your mind that speaks legit advice. You know, that part of your brain that is getting an atomic wedgie from the bigger, stronger, stupid part of your brain that watches Fox news and believes that politicians have our best interests at heart.

My gut warned me from the get go that I could very quickly be burnt out if I over did it at this job; my original shift was only 24 hours a week, which amounted to three 8 hour shifts. From there, I had plenty of time to relax and distance myself from the stress and B.S. of the job. And between August 2013 and January 2014, that worked out splendidly. But then the added expenses of student loans reared its ugly bucktoothed face, and suddenly I found myself needing more money.

"Where's my money?"

Logically, I did what most reasonable, intelligent people do: I requested more hours. And for anyone else, that might have been fine. But not me; that precious little voice in the back of my mind was overruled by the rest of my brain and  getting a swirly of epic proportions.

It was a mistake to start working full time at this place; I knew the added stress would get to me, but I foolishly ignored my gut and jumped in the deep end, not realizing I wasn't wearing any floaties. Now I know that logically, I did the right thing; I gots dem bills to pay, ya'll.

But wasn't the right move.

My inclination was to get a second job. Why? Because then I could have a second source of income that was not dependent on one employer; if holding two jobs got to be too much, or if I found the other job intolerable, I could just quit and find another. It brings to mind that saying "don't keep all of your eggs in one basket." It would have been tedious and time consuming, but I likely wouldn't be in my current predicament had I just done that. But I was lazy and said "fuck it," and went along and moved to working full time. Which brings us up to date. All of my eggs are in one basket and in danger of some asshole fox snatching them from my coop.

Look at him. He's just waiting to fuck me over.

So now I'm job hunting once again. I've updated my resume, and will now spend much of my free time filling out application after horrendous application, all the while dealing with the stress and frustration that my current employment brings me. Honestly, if I wasn't such a manly man, I'd break down and cry.

ALL OF MY HATE!

I am so fucking done.

On Sunday, August 4th 2013, I posted a blog entry entitled "Lifestyle Upgrade." In it, I detailed an exciting new career opportunity and the benefits it would reap. I would like you to go back and read that blog. Seriously, it will take but a moment of your time. Go ahead, I'll wait...

Done? Good.

Having so read that post, I want you understand just how serious I am when I say what I'm about to say. Let it sink into your comprehension the way Artax sank into the Swamp of Sadness.

I was a fucking idiot. A simpleminded, naive idiot.

It's been a long time coming, but now I have to express a dreadful truth I've done my best to contain and suppress, not unlike fighting my gag reflex.

I hate my job. I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate my job. 

I've been working since I was 15 or 16 years old. I've had crap jobs and not so crap jobs- calling any of them good would be a huge lie on my part. Throughout it all, I've done what most people do: suck it up, do my shift, and ache for the weekend. That's just a part of adult life. Unless, of course, you're one of those rare and lucky individuals who actually enjoy their work. In which case, I'd like to say "congrats!"

"And piss off!"

But in all of my years, I've never actively dreaded going to work. I've never had to stand in front of a mirror and stare down my own reflection, employing encouraging affirmations and desperately seeking to stem the tide of depression and rank cynicism that this job evokes. Over the past 14 months, I've dealt with depression, the constant second guessing of myself, and more sick days than I've experienced in the last 5 years previous combined; I once boasted having a rock-solid immune system, capable of beating down the meanest colds and most brutal illness. Those days are long gone, I fear. And I am firmly convinced that it is stress that is doing it to me.

Today was that tiny bit straw that laid low the mighty camel. After coming into work and having the first hour spent closeted in my bosses office, going over all the ways I suck, I believe I am well and truly done. I spent the rest of the day in the worst mood I've ever been in.

Let that last statement sink in...

Really? Again?!

Anyone who knows me well knows that I can be an angry person. Hell, "angry" is likely the understatement of this and last century. At its peak, my rage can level mountains and end the lives of thousands; I'm convinced it was my anger that caused the end of the dinosaurs. Maybe. Somehow. Shut up.

My rage

When I'm upset, I explode. It's a quick flash of furious annihilation. And then it's done, and there's peace once more. I don't hold grudges or retain hard feelings. Not usually.

But today, I was in a bad mood. No jokes, no smiles, no conversation that wasn't work related. I simmered and stewed like a cauldron. I don't think I've ever sat in one spot for 8 hours and just seethed. It just isn't my style. But that's what my day was. And more than likely, that's what most of my days will be like as long as I'm still working this job.

Don't get me wrong, the pay is good. I get benefits and PTO. I work with some pretty amazing people; with one exception, I like all of them. I'm doing work that actually matters, that impacts the lives of others in what I hope is a positive way. But if I'm being honest, and I'm always honest, that isn't enough anymore. The work load continues to rise and along with it, the stress. Stress begets ill feelings, ill health, and ultimately a poor style of life. I am so tired of spending my evenings after work depressed about the workday I just experienced and anxious about what the next workday will produce. I'm tired of spending my weekends dreading the following work week. I'm tired of being so worried that I lose sleep. I'm just tired of being tired.

This mesalliance has to come to an end.

I'm an Actor!

Well, where do I begin?

"Why not at the beginning, you dummy?!"

Oh, right. Why didn't I think of that?

So, a few months ago, a friend of mine went and had the nerve to get herself invited into a talent agency based here in Seattle. Seattle, it turns out, has a decent industry for commercials, short films, television, and especially voice over work; with a bunch of gaming companies having headquarters in the Emerald City, it stands to reason that they would need voice talent. My friend, who is an amazingly talented singer, is also gifted with one of those voices that should be heard in a myriad of mediums; once they're aware of her, Disney and the like will be pounding on her door, begging to have her voice one of their characters.

So, when she was prancing about her living room, informing me of the incredible news that she was now represented by a talent agency, I was quite naturally excited for her; I only turned the slightest shade of green, and managed to plaster a cheerful smile on my face that I'm sure masked my envious soul. I'm fairly certain I was successful, because I'm a talented actor with years and years of experience.

But then this friend of mine got it in her head that I should apply for a spot in the talent agency as well. I was reluctant; it's been more than five years since I've even looked at a monologue, let alone thought about getting back into performing. In addition, where would I get the money for head shots and resumes and the other expenses needed to advance an acting career? Being the perpetually destitute individual that I am, it wouldn't be the brightest idea to try and squeeze those added expenses into what I can only call a strained budget; some weeks, having enough money for food is a real issue for me. As far as I was concerned, my acting days were behind me. With that in mind, I politely informed my friend that it just wasn't possible, outlining the reasons I just mentioned.

She nodded, agreed with my faultless logic, and dropped it. For about 36 hours. And then she went right back to discussing (pestering) me about applying. I put up a good fight, but after two weeks of nagging, I finally gave in and applied.

And wouldn't you know it? I got in! After five long years, I am an actor again.

Naturally, I'm thrilled beyond words. Other than dealing with even more  financial strain and the stresses of auditioning, that is. My friend is no help, of course; every time I bemoan my situation- at least once every couple of days- she'll give me a smug little smirk, her eyes agleam with malicious delight, and say, "I'm not sorry."

How does that old saying go? "With friends like these, who needs enemies?"

Anywho, fast forward 9 weeks, and I've finished the acting workshop my agency offers. It was very informative and much needed; I have five years of rust to knock off my skills, and I know very little about acting in front of a camera.

So, that's pretty much it. I've been slacking on my blog- and writing in general- for the past couple of months mainly because I've suddenly found myself in this surreal circumstance. Now that things are a tad more stable, I plan on upping my posts as well and finally completing a few short stories I've been working on for the past several months.