It’s been nine hours, five days, and six months since I was employed. June 15th to be exact. It wasn’t a surprise but a shockingly familiar expectation. Morale was down after the company was bought by an even bigger one. Folks were disappearing front of the house and back. Management was invisible and nervous.

I hated it. I hated it because I fucked up, once again. I’m 43 years old and should know better. But a cliche kicked my ass.

Turns out the grass was not greener, fresher, or better. It was turf. Artificial, unfeeling, turf.

I recently read a line from a magazine or online that we live in a disposable time. And, that we will always look for something better.  I really wish I wasn’t in such a hurry to find the greener pasture. Didn’t realize I was already, for twelve years, in a field of fucking dreams.

I’m not writing this as a fable or lesson learned. This is a truly selfish and desperate attempt at therapy. It’s also a cheap one since I can’t afford health insurance.

Desperation can really be mother fucker. It hits hard and even harder to idiots like me in denial.

I’ve never been without a job since my freshman year in college. It NEVER took me more than two months to get work. I’m not buying this “the economy is bad” crap anymore. I’m taking it personally.

My resume is stacked with accomplishments and great references. I know people who know people who know people. And, yet, I’m getting nowhere. I’m close to being the perfect employee.  Nothing. Known assholes are posting their new gigs. I want to rip their faces off. (I’m drinking way too much Hatorade.)

Consulting. Ha! Starting own business. Double ha! Networking. There’s always insurance and wealth management. And, the inevitable uplifting advice about believing in yourself and educating your mind is sweet but not cheap.

Where’s the love for us hard working morning folks who love the smell of stale coffee and shouting at crappy copy machines?