Tuesday, December 9, 2014


Seventy-six days. That's how long I was out of work. Eleven weeks. It was not the making of me, like my friend and I thought it would be. I haven't gone on to bigger and better things. The experience has left me frustrated, questioning my abilities, and depressed. Oh, and let's not forget my favourites, mentally and emotionally exhausted.

I have a new job now and I'm grateful for it, really. And I don't want to say anything bad about it, but I think if I said I'm the sixth or seventh receptionist they've had this year, you'd get an idea about what I would say. If I was to say anything bad. Which I won't. Ooh, I also have to wash other people's dirty coffee cups. 

This is me, keeping my mouth shut.

This is also me, having my very own pity party for one.


  1. I will joint in the pity party if you want?!

  2. I am so there, too. Out of work and not Christmas shopping. Life.

  3. I'm going to cut you a break - I don't subscribe to the 'pity party' train of thought. We all get fed up and must be allowed to express the sentiment that we're not feeling so sterling about things. I understand your frustration but maybe you're looking for the 'answers' to it all outside yourself? I think you're a terrific writer and this job is a useful income that will allow you to put bread on the table whilst you follow through with what you do extremely well. Write girl. Write. xx