Bunker Black Thoughts

Today I had to talk to one of the temp agencies about why I am unemployed. Nothing sucks worse than this for me right now - going over the hideous events that left me looking for work. All the anger, frustration and surreal situations that I couldn't overcome from working for _____. It gets you twice - one moment for the recollection, and another for the despair of having to hash through What Comes Next. Plus, the woman who asked me all of this was being silly with her phone and called my house asking for my former supervisor, which is unprofessionalism at it's finest hour. I shouldn't have to know that. But now I do, and I'm livid again. I can't shake the feeling that the people you turn to at these agencies need to be shepherded or supervised by their own clients. I shouldn't have to doubt things this much. Is so-and-so at No Pilot Light, Inc. going to call me when she said she would? Should I be worried that I know too much about what's actually happening with my file? Is making sure that my rep does what she says she will some sort of hidden job audition to prove I have follow-through skills?

It sickens me and it's nearly as bad as working for ___________. Of course, what sickens me worse is the crushing fact that I'm leading a career where I have to entertain this nonsense in the hopes of being hired on somewhere. I wish I could just hop a jet and go to another country for a month. Wish this all away while I sat itching contentedly in a rough fabric coach seat high above the Northwestern skyline.

I can't control my anger anymore at all of it. It's ridiculous and sloppy and stupid to deal with day after day. What am I telling myself that I have brought this into my life? What is worse than this that I'm avoiding? If I'm barrelling over a cliff, why can't I think "nice view" instead of "CLIFFCLIFFCLIFFCLIFF?"

It's exhausting. And I'm proving absolutely nothing to anyone by doing it again. Where is the new path? I need to put temp agencies behind me, admin jobs behind me, everything I've known or done for money and stability into a little black box that gets pulverized by some monster machine out at the dump and pecked into dust by circling gulls. That's what it's worth to me now.