Scared

I told myself that I wasn’t going to write anything here until I was in a better mood. Until I could write something witty or scathing or just something besides how much I hate my life right now. But 6 days since my last entry I’m still feeling lost and alone and scared. I have to find another job. I never knew how much a job could control my life but it has. I’m afraid to get too much into since a person has been fired from my company for having a blog. Well that’s not the only reason but they are being so vague about it that I wish I had made up the place that I lived. I guess it doesn’t really matter since she made up a place but posted pictures of herself in uniform. Our uniforms are so ugly I’m not really sure why she did it. But hey this is about me. There used to be a time when I could work a little. A little means twice a week. I know to a lot of people who have to work 5 days or more a week it sounds like nothing but figure that my twice a week was going to the west coast and back twice a week. All of our work hours are calculated by flight hours so it used to be that working 80 hours a month was kind of a lot. Again think of the last time you flew cross country and imagine if when you get off the plane you just turn right around and go back. Oh there’s no sleeping.

Even though these types of flights were hard on me and my body I was happy because I was getting my hours in and it took less time. It even got to a point that it didn’t bother me as much. Of course my company decided that they had a better idea. Again it’s too hard and possible too dangerous to explain but it seems like you either fly every day or 4. There’s no real rhyme or reason for it. A lot of people are doing the fly every day thing. I could do that but if I did I would have to work every weekend and holiday and I just can’t do that so I’m stuck with the flying four days which is what I’ve done in November. Even though I hate my job with such a huge passion, I like to eat and buy nice things and not beg JAB for money all the time. I’m so frustrated. I feel like this happened for a reason. It happened so I could make myself go out and find another job. I’m looking but again I don’t have a lot of marketable skills. I’ve reworked my resume. I’ve fibbed a little and hopefully something will hit. The strange thing is that I’m so scared. What if all I can really do is serve cokes to people? What if my company has stolen every bit of creativity and drive out of me? I’ve never had the greatest self esteem. I’ve never been like a lot of other Gay men who “know” they are hot. I’ve always considered myself below average but I dressed well so many it would compensate. Now since I’m broke that’s falling apart. The one thing I used to always have was that I thought I was smart. I thought I was smarter than most of the people I work with. I read all the time. I’ve been published in a few small unknown publications but in the end I’m still just a flight attendant and that makes me feel like I’ve completely thrown away my life. I so down that I’m afraid to go to a temp agency for fear that they’ll laugh at me and tell me that they can only place me at the counter of McDonalds.

My mother told me today that she’s sure that I will be hired in a management position at my company. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’s crazy. There aren’t even management positions out there. I know she means well.

I’m wondering what the differences are between clinical depression and depression because your life sucks. I have a lot of the symptoms of clinical depression but I wonder would they go away if I got the perfect job? I should really put things into perspective. A friend of JAB’s, well really it’s a friend of a friend of his died today of cancer. He was 34 years old. He was diagnosed in July and he’s dead now. Right before Thanksgiving. I met him once for about 30 seconds. He seemed nice. He was laid off from his job and started detailing cars. He then started working for a motivational speaker. I’m ashamed to say that when he was first diagnosed I asked JAB if it would be wrong of me to email the motivational speaker my resume. I never did, not because it was morally wrong but more because I was afraid that she’d laugh at my qualifications.

God how much lower can I sink? I probably shouldn’t ask that question.

I actually could write more but this lap top is doing strange things. That’s all I need. I’m broke.

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