"...the inablity to construct a future."

---Rollo May

I got to work on Friday, pulled out the schedule binder, and took a close look at it. Everything looked good. All posts were filled through the next Saturday. With the exception of a few holes in the schedule, the rest of the month looked good. Nothing to much to worry about. The only thing I had to worry about on Friday was the suicide watch going on in back, and I couldn't take care of it until the guy was seen by a psychiatrist. I thought that if I got everything done, I'd be able to check out early. Why sit around doing nothing at work when I can sit around doing nothing somewhere I don't hate?

The day before, when I got back from work, there was a letter from one of the agencies I'd applied to. I mailed out the application on Tuesday, but I'd applied there several times in the weeks before. I immediately ripped the envelope open and read the short paragraph. Basically, it said that they are looking for the most qualified applicants and I am not going to be interviewed. When I checked my e-mail I had a nearly identical e-mail from a different agency. It's nice to know that after five year and ten months I'm still not qualified to promote. The worst thing was that one of the agencies that turned me down for an interview is a place that I actually believe in what they do. It's a place that even if I hate my job I'd be working on something that I think is good and right and helpful and important.

My mood was a force of darkness surrounding me because when people asked me how I was doing, I told them that I was upset and disappointed. Of course they asked me why and, against my normal operating procedure, I told them. All of them offered to help me in any way they could. How the fuck could they help me? They're not the ones who refuse to give me an interview. They don't have the power to call these agencies and insist they give me a chance. They can't help me! Sure, if I get an interview they'll give me a good recommendation, but it's unhelpful right now and doesn't make me feel better, just more frustrated.

Is it so wrong, oh bastard asshole force of the universe, for me to get an interview? If I'm going to fail, I'd like to fail on my own merits. Give me a fucking chance! Let me put on my long sleeved shirt and a tie with stripes and give it a shot. Let me try to get closed minded assholes to open up. Let me try to convince them that even though I'm a fat, piece-of-shit schlub I'm worth taking a chance on. And if I fail, at least I failed trying. And if it's wrong, jackass universe, why? Why? Just why?

At tenish, I called back to find out about the suicide watch. The guy was with the doctor. I called back after ten-thirty and the watch was on. I called people at home. I called nurse registries. I called people at the facility. I walked around and asked people in person to take a shift or two. I sat on my overblown ass and waited for four-and-a-half hours to hear from people. Out of nine shifts, I filled two. Both, fortunately on Friday. And I wasted a day at work bored. I sat and did nothing. I doodled. I read some fan-fic that I'd sent to myself a while ago and actually finished reading weeks ago. I did nothing.

And all this makes me want is something horrible.

One of the people I talked to tried to pull the bullshit, "This stuff happens for a reason." on me. I don't believe in that anymore, and I told her so. I'm so careful in my life, so guarded, that really bad shit doesn't happen to me. I don't let it. I don't allow myself to get into those kinds of positions. Unless one of my parents dies in the coming week and I'm here to help the other parent, then I don't see how me getting disappointed at failing a job interview warrants the fucking universe keeping me away from these interviews "for a reason." A vague, indefinable, pointless fucking reason.

And my weekend has been me in a funk. At least the new Harry Potter opens next weekend. That'll be two hours away from me and my bullshit and my worrying over things that I'm not quite comfortable writing about here.

God, I... I... Fuck.