It's been 9 months since I've written here. It's been over a year really since I wrote any fiction. I just, haven't found any real point in doing so. Which, maybe isn't entirely the case, so much as how it feels today at least. Let me back up.
I've been working part time for the last year or so. As I've written before it was causing my anxiety over my finances as I was unsure how long I'd be able to maintain my apartment and style of living long term. That ended in June as the company moved my department to Phoenix Arizona for some bullshit reason or another. Some of the team went with, most did not. I was again unemployed. This was third time in seven years, and I wasn't looking forward to the idea of another year long job search (as they tend to be). I applied for an entry level gig, interviewed and got the position, and then lost it about six weeks later for discussing my team's low wages in an email (we all started at minimum wage). They said they "didn't trust my judgement". Okay, whatever excuse you want to use, fine. I don't have the money or resources to fight anything so off I went. I picked up a temp gig a few days after that, and thought things were going well, only to be fired again randomly on a Tuesday afternoon about a month later. I'm still unsure why. No one said anything to me, there was no feedback, only they called the temp agency and said I wasn't engaged in the work. Which, is just flatly untrue, but even if it was, why not talk to me about it? Surely its easier to just tell me to engage in the work, than it is to hire a new temp right?
And so here we are, Early October, and unemployed again. I did build up my finances a little bit more when I was working full time, but that was only for two months more or less.
So, that's a thing. It wasn't being out of work that's traumatizing, I'm used to that. It was the insulting nature and surprise that really did it. I was expecting the contract to end in a month or so, not a big deal on the outside, but the fact that they randomly decided to call me after a full day of work was what was so shocking.
Now I start the whole process over again and it just feels so utterly overwhelming and pointless at the same time. I'll maybe send out 200 applications (I keep count), and of those, get back one interview request, in a three month span. Which I'll fail at generally because they all boil down to a random charisma test, which being a mentally ill trans person, I'm almost guaranteed to fail at.
MEANWHILE, we have all this *points to socio-political-economic-environment* going on. Which, makes even life in general feel like a tedious exercise in running out the clock. We as a species have already doomed ourselves within 150 years, so why bother trying to create anything? Why try and get a job to stave off homelessness and death, when life is going to get exponentially worse as time goes on. I can barely keep my head above water (global warming pun intended) as it is, let alone when the economy turns down (which it is guaranteed to crash magnificently within 10 years or so). I'd give it an honest, serious 50-50 odds that this administration starts rounding up trans folk and removing their citizenship rights. Not that I'd mind running away from this backwards ass country, but do it with what money?
That isn't even looking for things like, passion. I have no passion. There is no enjoyment in things anymore. There's only escapism and binging on the next new thing until I've exhausted it and need something else to occupy my mind to prevent it from looking at the shame that is my life.
A few days ago my landlord died. He lived across the hall from me. The first thing after the shock of the news to hit me was jealousy. I'm just so incredibly exhausted of this life. Of the seemingly endless cruelty and harshness of it all.
So, in like, trying to be an optimist, what's the base case scenario? Say I get another fulltime job, and then what? I go back to slave labor and spending the vast majority of my life working for generate profit for some corporation that exploits me and its consumers to benefit some unimaginably rich asshole who will set himself up in a bunker to outlive the rest of us. Until the climate genocide or economic depression forces that to end, and then what?
What difference does it make in the end anyway, it's not like I enjoy my life as it is, I might as well sign it away to some shitbag for pennies on the dollar.
Amidst all that weight on me, all that I just wrote, why bother trying to play guitar, or trying to write fiction. Who can have passion for anything?
