Well, I Have a Job For the Moment…

A black secretary--ahem!--administrative assistant. It was hard to find a photo or a drawing that has black clerical workers, or wasn't sexy or part of a joke (Courtesy: About.com)

It starts tomorrow. It’s a temporary clerical job that goes through the holidays and ends in mid-January. This is the first job I’ve gotten since being laid off in February. Let’s say that I’m saved. The WI UI people could provide me no guarantees that I would have a second extension, and I certainly didn’t want to wait until the first week of December to find that I was shut out for benefits.

Well, I celebrated; I shared a bottle of wine with a resident here at the Y, and then I thought about it some more. I just wish I had a job that I liked and would be happy with, duties, salary, benefits and all. Forget my mother’s admonition that all work had value. Yeah, but if a ditchdigger longs to write, what does s/he do? I have learned that work is full of unhappy people who would rather be doing something else, but are stuck where they are because they don’t have the education, the courage or don’t have a choice. Or they inflict their unhappiness or other fears on others in what is called “office politics.”

I love writing; writing makes me happy. But I am not at the point where I could show my writing to others and get paid regularly from freelancing.

Teaching to me these days is like assuming a mask and hoping that the slings and arrows don’t hurt you. I have also thought about teaching online English composition classes.

But most of all, I’m thinking where is my mind and my heart about getting a job? Many people don’t have a job at this moment, and during the holidays, it would be particularly depressing to have no money–or even food for that matter, since hunger is now a problem among our new Recession-touched poor. The poor have always dealt with hunger and want.

I’ve seen that empty cupboard and that empty refrigerator several times in my life. And I’ve been homeless a few times. Not that kind of homelessness where my stuff is out on the street or I’m pushing a cart. But I don’t like going from one temporary abode to another; relying on others, trying to make a sofa stretch out to fit my feet.

I can only think that I have survived once more. By my toenails. Lucky? Perhaps so. I chant nam-myoho-renge-kyo. But a lot of people pray and get no answers yet, or not at all. Work is something that I must do for myself to pay for what is needed. A roof over my head, this Internet connection, going to counseling. Moving that novel a page forward. That’s all. I have to wait again until I can find that position, that job or career that would make me fairly run to the bus stop or walk straight for the study every day, every morning, and feel that anticipation that I am on a great adventure or doing some good in the world.

Well, perhaps every other week, I suppose.

Somehow, somewhere I have to make that happen.

And how will I continue online with This Black Sista’s Page? You’ll probably hear from me in the evenings or on weekends, or even during the day if they allow me to bring my laptop to the office to tap out a story around lunch time. So starting Monday, I’m half-time here until further notice.

Yall take care out there, and hope your job searches are proving fruitful. Don’t ever give up.

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~ by blksista on November 22, 2009.

 
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