I really hate being the new kid. It’s rough. I’ve been unemployed for a month and I hate it. Most people would love the vacation but the way I live I can’t just sit and knit or read a book. It’s hard. It’s frustrating, seeing your bank account deplete and dwindle down to nothing. It almost feels like desperation is kicking in.
I am not a hermit. Never have been. I hate being confined and restricted to the house. I left my island for freedom but I’ve been confined even more. It feels like I can’t breathe. Like my chest hurts and every breath or every heartbeat is painfully slow. It’s like watching the flame to a candle die. I feel like my wings have been officially clipped.
I miss having intellectual conversations with people. I haven’t really spoken to anyone in the three weeks that I’ve been here. I’m actually dying for intellectual conversation that does not have to deal with texting or calling. I want to go to the store and just have a conversation with someone about what can of beets to buy. Does this sound weird? I hope not.
The most conversation I’ve had was at my job interviews. The job interviews for the jobs that I failed to land. I’ve never been rejected before but to hear someone say you’ve basically gotten the job, I think you are better suited for the managerial position…only to receive a call the next day saying better luck next time. I don’t know….I guess it messes with you in a sense.
Better luck next time…
These words have been told to me numerous times within the last three weeks. I’m doing a good job of keeping it together and not leaving the chronic wave of depression swallow me whole but still….
I hate being the new kid.
© Hikari Aie