Saturday, September 26, 2015

Twistin' the Night Away

I sleep like a food processor on Pulse anyway, but presently it's more like Puree.

It's not that my job prospects are overwhelming in scope; the field has been pre-narrowed, you could say.  For my pleasure.


Anyway, it got to me a bit last week.  I relived my horrid academic experience of failure upon failure, which I tend to do when the stakes are high.  If I wasn't me, I'd make fun of that.

Wait, I SHOULD make fun of that.  *scribbles note*

At this point it's unthinkable to go back to school, even if I still had the Batman lunchbox.  I have debt, bad teeth and a vehicle that will only make it another year, possibly two. Even if the cost of reeducation was paid for, I need to work.

Being without a degree in a meritocracy, I'm pretty much only qualified to do the thing I've been doing for 26 years.  I'm of the certain age that can limit my prospects a bit in mainstream media (Shut UP.  I've heard the "Don't sell yourself short!" chorus to DEATH).  Studios stand empty all over town and beyond as radio dances its final death spirals.  And I am tired of talking to myself alone in a room anyway.  I do that at home.

And in the truck.


I thought about being a 911 dispatcher.  I could train for it.  But the migraines are even more severe and more unpredictable in the winter.  I can't be hurling into the office waste basket when somebody's baby is choking on the other end of the line.  And even after the migraine pain is gone the hangover lingers, turning words into cats and making the acts of speech and comprehension like herding them, and my vision becomes kaleidoscopic.  I can handle this when I can revoice a track several times, but in an emergency I'm afraid my thwacked comprehension could endanger somebody.

At this juncture I would not be able to do any landscaping.  In fact, I can't be on my feet much at all.  They're banged up from wearing high heels for decades and I'm so heavy right now that a two mile walk makes me limp for a couple days.  Waitressing is out, as is barista-ing or even a nice factory floor job at Coors where I could sing about Hossenpepper Incorporated after my shift.  I don't think you're allowed to sing that if you're not skipping.

The not-for-profit universe looks promising because it's primarily a sit-down job, lives aren't usually hanging in the balance, and I have a lot of the "soft skills" that could be useful, like communication, an understanding of events and promotional campaigns on multiple platforms and the ability to bounce around between departments to facilitate and manage projects and freak people out just enough to keep them entertained.  I have NO IDEA of the actual likelihood of this happening.

But I figure, hey, who really needs credibility?  Not even Presidential candidates need THAT.  And you know The Donald isn't losing any sleep.

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