poor me

I know what most people think.  They think I’m not trying to find work.  I wonder if they believe I like living like this. Constantly worrying about money.  Having  life at a standstill.  Never going on vacation.  Contemplating every penny spent.  Rarely having dinner with friends.  Not giving Alexander what I want him to have.  Could they possibly think this is a happy way to live?

Today I am talking to someone who knows me well.  This is someone who appears to have no money concerns. This person lives the way I would love to live.   We are talking about an upcoming black tie event.  I will have to wear a gown; probably one I will wear once.  I mention that I can’t spend more than $500.  This person responds, “I hate to say it, but just get a job.”  “You don’t think I’m trying?” I ask.  “Truthfully I don’t know.  All I know is that I have many friends who have gotten jobs.”  I don’t know how to respond.  I change the subject.

Taking real estate classes toward a license is something I am not interested in doing, but I am.  Building a website for college counseling is something I enjoy, but finding clients is difficult.  And applying for jobs online is useless.  I can’t even get as far as an interview.  There’s not much of a market for 62-year olds, regardless of talent or skills.  I never thought I’d be here, but here I am.

I need a good connection to get the interview.  Apparently I have none.

I am embarrassed by my situation.  I hate thinking my son feels the way I know others do.  I often feel invisible, and by having no productive work, that veil of invisibility is growing.  Soon I’ll hardly exist.  Oh how dramatic I sound.  

I debate posting this.  It is whiny.  Self-pitying.  Raw.  Private.  But if I’m to be honest in what I write, it also feels disingenuous to skip the thoughts that haunt me in the middle of the night.  And on some days, too.