Last year, I befriended an unemployed person. Which I viewed as a bit of a novelty. Sort of like having a friend who was an ex-con or something; a club I found interesting - dangerous, I guess, but hadn't planned on joining. He had all this insight I didn't have. Like saying "I'm really sick of the endless Saturday nights."
I'm not so sure I'm there. The nights tend to be okay for me. The weekdays have been consumed with the sheer amount of activity it takes to find a job in this market. I feel compelled to go to bed on time. But weekend days? Those are a killer.
You'd think I'd be able to let it go for two days, but letting it go has never really been my thing.
Weekends are slow. Recruiters don't call, postings don't go up online, friends would prefer to tell you about, say, Count Chocula being on sale at Target rather than point you to a potential networking connection. People are trying to rest. Me? I'm trying to get a job. This infiltrates my thoughts without interruption.
It's not like Saturday comes and I have nothing to do. I'm a mom. My daughter delights me, and having her time to myself on these days without the distraction of a job has been, as they say in my old world, upside. I'm a better mother to her, in many ways, unemployed. I rarely forget to pack her gym shoes anymore, have found that cutting a crust off of a sandwich can be a good distraction, however temporary. I enjoy her conversation more that I don't spend 60 hour weeks completely saturated by people. We read more, go to the park that was just too far away for a tired mom who just needs to barrel through the laundry.
But I'm distracted. I have found myself half listening to her in my anxious state. I'm quick to say no to reasonable requests (really, we can afford the occasional Happy Meal still). And this makes me feel like I'm falling down on the only job I currently have. The directionality? Bad.
But, with each Monday comes new hope, new opportunities, and, yes, more disappointment (but answers).