I wanna write about driving through the 'burbs, carwashes and garage sales, but there's a cloud hanging over me that I hafta shake off first. The last month has been productive emotionally. I seem to be strengthening and stabilizing, with the help of my friends and parents. Loneliness has been a recurring problem because of my continuing unemployment and difficulty in getting in touch with friends. But I finally feel ready (almost eager) to begin my long-delayed job search, which I will at 8:30 am on Monday at the Workforce Center (a free state program) at Chicago and Lake.
Getting up early could be tough after 2 months of sleeping past 11, although I've actually been using my alarm (inconsistently) this week to ease the transition. At first, setting the alarm infected my sleep with anxiety. But, after hangin' out with my dad last weekend and sharing some of my vocational concerns with him, I was able to sleep pretty soundly even with the prospect of an early morning wake-up call. I think I associated the alarm with my old job and the possibility of ending up with another job as a corporate bitch. Getting ready in the morning was always the toughest, most soul-crushing part of the job for me.
So, about that cloud hanging over me, it regards my nascent career in standup. Last week I was scheduled to do a set at a certain comedy-themed show in the Uptown area that shall remain nameless. Well, the host of said show failed to include me in that evening's lineup, despite the fact I'd booked it with him months in advance. With a calm, but unequivocal expression of anger, I exited the venue and spent the night venting and chillin' with two friends who'd come to see my standup for the first time. Thank god they showed up; otherwise I would've been in tough shape.
After several days, I mustered all my restraint and sent an e-mail to the host of the show with a list of grievances. There'd been other incidents leading up to that night that made it the final straw. My criticism was harsh but emotionally reserved. I struck a somewhat conciliatory note at the end and even more strongly in a follow-up e-mail, but he still hasn't responded. I don't expect he will at this point. I think I prefer that to getting "flamed," if I'm using that internet slang correctly.
Since then I've been plagued by paranoia, afraid that I'll run into him on my perambulations along the streets of Uptown. It appears to have soured my interaction with strangers, and just when I'd apparently cleansed myself of the social anxiety left over from middle school. I think this is the first test of my new optimistic outlook. Success almost seems inevitable, just a function of patience and time. But, for now, the process is riddled with doubt and fear.
I didn't want this post to be a rainy day, but that's what I had to write. I'll try and let the sunshine in next time.