Lost my job on Thursday. The bar I was working at was sold to another proprietor. I was told I would have a job when they re-opened in mid-January and I believe them. But, from now until then, I’m at a loss for work. I was in the same position last winter. Except, last winter my girlfriend was pregnant, and this winter we have an infant (a phenomenal infant, mind you) to take care of.
I have filed for unemployment and am waiting on the interview. I have finished my substitute teaching requirements and am waiting on a job. I have filled out an application for a part-time bartender position that isn’t really available at the time and am waiting to speak to the GM.
I have called the editor of one of the magazines I work for twice, emailed her once and texted her once, looking to pick up work. She hasn’t gotten back to me. I’ve tried to drum up work with the company that bought my restaurant, telling them I’d happily take a sledgehammer to stuff, haul trash or pound nails for some money. They said they might be able to help me. I have taken on extra copywriting work. I am taking an online alternative teaching course so that maybe I can become a teacher and this won’t happen next year. None of this, unfortunately, has resulted in much, as you can tell. This doesn’t do wonders for the family dynamic at home, let me tell ya.
My baby couldn’t care less. She is clothed, fed and loved. That’s all she gives a hoot about right now. My girlfriend, on the other hand, isn’t so easy to please. She worries. Who could blame her? She tells me I’m not doing enough. At least, that’s what I hear anyway. I love her. I know she loves me. I hate that she feels this way; all this anxiety, fear and stress. She’s even held it over my head that she has a job and I don’t. It makes me sad, even angry.
When I worked three jobs this summer and brought home the lion’s share of the money, I never held it over her head. I just gave her all my money and let her pay the bills. Part of me doesn’t want to speak to her right now, part of me knows that’s immature. Nothing I can say is right. Nothing I do is good enough. That’s hard on a guy, on anybody…
None of this is really fair, but since when did fairness have anything to do with anything? We’ll be fine, if we don’t kill each other first. One day this will make a great story. This too shall pass.