imagine my voice saying these words; then take another xanax.

Dissatisfied; Hoping.

Let me be brutally honest with you and completely clear with no trace of clouds: I love prosecuting cases.  It’s a high-stress, demanding job, but it challenges me in so many ways, daily, that it’s quite rewarding through the whole mess.  I like being in the courtroom, I like being nervous, I like being in control, I like it all.

The fact that I can’t do that right now is crippling.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration, and not a little stupid.  A traffic accident is crippling (in more ways than one).  This is crippling (and being handled with style and grace).  Me?  I don’t have a job because I’m a whistleblower.  Remember this movie?  I’m the fat Russell Crowe.  And in real life?  There is no one playing Al Pacino.  There is no one here to save you and expose the truth, but there are plenty of people ready to dispose of you quickly to keep their political power.  That’s what happened to all of us.

Wait, did I just sink back into the well of self-pity?  Oops.

So it’s not crippling.  It just sucks.  I sit around the house all day, sleep too long, take the dogs out (well, just the one.  maybe a post about that later), have some tea, print my resume and cover letters, address the envelopes, mail them off, and check my email for the thirtieth time.  Then I usually go back for a nap, do some laundry or the dishes if I’m feeling particularly awesome, take a shower, put on a new pair of sweatpants, and wait for M to come home.

My nickname when I worked at Big Tobacco was “Bond.”  It was a great name.  I suppose that’s still my nickname.  But can you imagine Bond unemployed?  Yeh.  Boring.  And really? It is boring.

Dissatisfied + Hoping = Depression.

But not all the time, don’t worry.  If you were worried, that is.  You might not’ve been.  That’s okay, take all the time you need to feel bad about yourself.

Better posts to come.  I need to start having fun at home.  How, though?  Hmm.