Yellow Dog/Bleeding Heart

Photo Source: http://bahava.wordpress.com/2008/04/03/loving-on-the-driscoll-sermons/   Two applications a week. That’s all that is required to receive unemployment. Never mind that it’s only a few hundred a week. It’s all the income you have right now. You search the newspaper, the internet, and corporate websites for jobs. You even check the student job board of your alma mater – though it’s been years since you graduated. You send out a couple of resumes for jobs you don’t even really want. You find a job that is perfect for you and you are surprised at how excited you feel about the opportunity. You shine up the resume, write a killer cover letter and prepare your answers to likely interview questions. You mentally inventory your wardrobe and plan what you will wear to work at your fabulous new job. You polish your interview shoes. You get a haircut. You don’t get the job though, because despite all of the aforementioned you never bothered to send the ...

Photo Source: www.myhumbleopinion.org/ Finally I accepted that I had to get up. After all, I’ve always been a survivor, right? It’s what is expected of me. What kind of parent abandons their kid to fend for himself and answer all the phone calls and pretend it’s all okay? How many times could he claim I was in the shower? How many times could I tell him I was okay when he could clearly see I wasn’t? It was a great farce we were playing out within the walls of our home that week. So I got up. I showered. I ate some soup and promptly threw it back up. I showered again and slept on the couch that night. Eventually the soup stayed down and with the help of some supportive friends I was able to begin to function again. I filed for unemployment. I deposited my last paycheck and paid what bills I could. I bumped up all my routine doctor’s appointments to beat the cancellation date of my insurance. I filled all of my prescriptions. I updated my resume and then updated it again. I bega...

Photo Source: http://www.jibberjobber.com/blog/2006/11/10/dont-write-for-my-carnivals/ Your boss asks you to come up to her office and you know it’s not good because in the eight years you’ ve worked there you could barely get her to even answer an e-mail, much less grant you a meeting. When you arrive you instinctively close the door. You note that the witness she has chosen is a woman whom you’ ve considered a sort workplace mother figure - onewhose shoulder you’ ve cried on many times. Even though you know there has to be a witness you wish it wasn ’t her. As you hear the news the tears begin to flow – silently, but humiliating nonetheless. Your boss is saying something about how hard the decision was and how it breaks her heart, and the snarky voice inside you laughs at the charade. Your co-worker/witness offers a hug and you shrink back. “Don’t you get it,” you want to scream, “You are the enemy in this scenario.” You let her hug you anyway. You know they are just follo...