Six Months

Today marks six months (to the day) since I lost my last job.  I've had three interviews in as many weeks, but none of them have amounted to anything.  One of the jobs did lead to a job offer, but then I didn't pass their background check.  Apparently credit checks are now employers' great equalizer.  Never mind that poor pay and unemployment contribute to people getting behind on their bills.  Bad credit means one is not trustworthy, so these checks are used to deny employment.  Big, theatrical SIGH.

It's also been almost three months since the last time I got out of doors en femme.  My therapist has been waiting for me to come back to her dressed, but the opportunity hasn't really presented itself.  Next week I might make the effort, if only to see if my makeup can withstand the wicked humidity we get here.  I wasn't sure I could last this long, but my ongoing unemployment has altered the limits of everything I feel that I might have to endure.

Not all my news is bad.  I was at Apalachee Center a couple of weeks back getting a scrip refilled, and I stepped onto a scale in the nurse's office.  I'm down to 185 pounds.  That's the lightest I have been since high school.  I'm still a tetch over what I should be according to the Body Mass Index, but if I can keep the rest off, a tetch is acceptable.

The Search Continues

After last week's upset, I thought I might stumble in my job search.  Not to worry.  I've filled out at least one application nearly every day since then, and I had an interview this morning, with another lined up (with a different employer) tomorrow morning.  I'm going to beat this.  As with everything else, there is no way but forward.

Oops!

That was scary.  I accidentally attempted to log into Blogger using my other Gmail, the one that doesn't have anything attached.  For a moment I thought someone had hijacked my account and deleted everything.  We now return you to your regularly unscheduled blog, already in progress.

Definitely Not

All that fuss of a few weeks ago turned out for nought.  I went back to the business to see exactly what had become of my application/background check, and was told that I had been declined, based on something discovered in the course of the check.  They declined to hire me, based on the findings of an anonymous third-party agency.  When I asked why, they couldn't tell me, so it's all on the anonymous agency.
That's okay.  I didn't want to work there anyway.

Bullshit.  I'd take anything on offer at this point.  Crap jobs, shit jobs (and there is a difference), anything available, so long as they pay something.

The last time I was out of work this long, I started thinking about self-harm.  That's enough of that.

Or Maybe Not

Last week, I went for an interview at the place that I thought had hired me.  They told me to come back Monday morning for a second interview.  I went there prepared to interview, along with another candidate.  Instead of an interview, I found myself (and the other fellow) filling out a slough of new-hire paperwork.  WTF?  I've been out of work since December, so I didn't let it faze me.  After a brief run-through of the documents, they told me to come back Tuesday and begin training.

Tuesday morning I went in prepared to train, only to be told that they weren't quite ready, and "Could I please come back at 1700?".  I went back to my sister's store and chilled out for a few hours.  I went back to the job site in the afternoon, only to be told that I can't begin my training until my background check comes back.  One of the trainers made me a milkshake, so it wasn't a totally wasted trip.  They told me to come back on the morrow, at the same time.

Wednesday I trundled out there only to discover that I still couldn't train, because the background check hadn't come back.  Worse still, no background check was submitted because that form was missing from my new-hire packet.  I filled out the missing form, and now I'm waiting.  My background is clean, so I'm not worried about anything, but it's frustrating to have been so close to work again, only to be forced to wait.  Have I ever mentioned how much I hate waiting?

Back to the Old Grind

I finally found a job.  If I had known how easy getting this one would be, I would have applied ages ago.  Mind you, it isn't what I envisioned for myself when I ended up out of work, but hey, a job is a job.

Their application says that the company does not discriminate against all of the usual things (race, nationality, religion, etc.) with regard to their hiring.  In addition, they do not discriminate against "sexual preference and sexual identity".  That doesn't help me right this minute, but if I continue to work for them, it may come in handy down the road.

This company also has rather strict guidelines about how employees are supposed to communicate about the business and their practices, and I plan to comply, so for the time being, I don't think I will even reveal where I'm working.

Why?

Why is it that big, seemingly momentous events always take place after my therapy sessions?  I suppose that it must be so that I don't do anything rash.  I have twelve days to think on things before I go back to see Cassandra.  The truth is that I don't deal very well with the here-and-now.  Decisions made in the heat of the moment always seem to backfire, and I'm not in a very good spot to deal with that sort of thing.  Rash actions always have unforseen repercussions, and I do not need anything more unforseen or worse, undesired.  Anyway, before I go back, I'm supposed to write something about my dreams for the future.  Ha!  I don't know that I do that anymore.

I used to have what I thought were visions.  I thought I could actually see some events in the future.  The problem was, it was only ever the most mundane of occurrences, and I only experienced the feeling of "deja vu" after the fact.  When I was in the seventh grade, I walked up the my history teacher's desk and caught a coffee cup that was teetering on the edge.  Boing!  There was that feeling, that twinge of otherness.  It didn't come again until I was twenty-one.  Riding up the escalator from the NY subway into the daylight of Manhattan.  Boing!  I can't say that I have felt that sort of cognitive dissonance at any time since.  What's the use of precognition if all one can see is humdrum everyday stuff?