Beating the Pavement

So, here's how our little slice of America goes at the moment. A snapshot, if you will, of an average American family trying to get by. Keep in mind that the price of gasoline is up to $3.97 a gallon in some places (cheapest gas is $3.87).

Both Frank and I get up early. He usually beats me to the computer. We feverishly check emails for notifications from CareerBuilder. I wait, and have my coffee and start to craft some beaded earrings to sell at the local markets because they're quick, I have the materials (generously donated by my friend) and I can sell them for egg money. It's odd that the term "egg money" comes into play here because that's the depression-era generation's term, not mine. I'm from the generation that was supposed to benefit from all the postwar prosperity we kept getting promised in film strips while sitting in a darkened classroom somewhere in the 1960s.

Once Frank is done at the computer I check my CareerBuilder and Monster.com accounts. We both apply for everything we feel we are qualified or skilled at and we wait.

I make the mistake of watching the news. The news is not good. Unemployment is up. My ancestors wail from their graves, reminding me how they survived the lean years. I'm glad I listened to their stories when they were alive. I'm glad I paid attention to my great-grandfather when he showed me how to grow things and how to milk a cow. It might come to that.

I'm frightened and fairly sick with worry because we're in our 50s and beginning to feel like no one values us as employees. We begin to learn that perhaps we are experienced in the wrong areas for this global economy. I begin to second-guess every decision I have made in my life.

Friends assure me that this is tough for everyone and I remind myself that things would not have been much better had we stayed in Florida. But I am still fraught with fairly self-reducing if not destructive thoughts about how we may be living IN boxes soon instead of out of them.

On the more cheerful side, I have started a book for people who suffer from depression. Let's call it "darkly hilarious" because we depressed folk need as much humor as possible to stave off the dark days. This is oddly juxtaposed with my obsessive worry, of course, but it's my safety net.

I did consider not writing this post but if a blog is not for venting sometimes, then what is it for? Yes, yes, I know: I have seen the openings for professional bloggers. I have yet to be able to separate professional from personal. My profession and my personal life are fairly intertwined and while I can separate the two, I think this blog would be incredibly dry if I didn't stop for a moment to voice fears that perhaps all of us are having and that saves me from total despair: I am not alone.