Bottom of The Pile

I was on IRC last night.

And a friend there got me interested in ROCHESTER NEW YORK. She said how great and inexpensive it is to live up there, and that they are always hiring for jobs in the tech field. So what do you think I did, with her help of course, I looked into it, and guess what? She was right. Rochester is hiring aggressively in the tech field, even paying for relocation. Wow. I was astounded. Also to hear that they have a pretty extensive bus system. I can get around everywhere without a license. Which is good for me since New Jersey is still holding my license hostage. Sons of bitches.

I am amazed, so I send out my resume to a half dozen of them and sit back and relax. See if I get a response from any of them. I stay online all night, until three in the morning, working on my novel, still bringing it to a conclusion. I am working on it a lot now, now well past 1,100 pages, another milestone for me. 400 pages from my goal. Its coming together nicely so I don't think I'll make it, but we'll see. It will be close, and I don't want to fill the end of the book with padding just to get to that number. I want it to end logically.

I went of to sleep last night, and had neutral dreams, dreams about nothing. Must be trying to imitate my life. All about nothing.

Another friend of mine, BB, online tells me about how they are close friends with Terri McMillian and wondered if she could help me find a publisher for my new book. I am astounded. I have friends with connections willing to use them for my benefit. And friends in high places too. I thank her for the effort and smile inwardly. What a good break that would mean for me. Maybe, with a publisher, I'll be able to move along with my life. Open up a new chapter, a new avenue, a new adventure.

I'm always bitching about my life lately. Like I need one. Well, if I don't bitch about my life, what do I bitch about? WECARE? Not a problem for the time being. My shrinks? Well I am getting tired. I am depressed today. So I skip Dr. A and Dr. W. I know, bad move. But I want to just stay in my room and listen to some sad music and vegetate. Just do nothing but watch paint peel.

Keeps me out of trouble. I get an email from one of the job prospects from Rochester. It's a job recruiter, not a job. I hate when they do that. They hide behind jobs to get your information so that they can find a job for you, and unless you have some sterling skills, they are the ones that put you on the bottom of the pile. Otherwise, known as full of shit. They send me a skills Info-sheet. Basically a questionnaire to see how much you know about the technology, with trick phrases, and dead ends to see if you can tell the difference between a cock and an anus.

I fill it out, but I don't send it in just yet. They say to hurry, but I don't think hurrying will make a difference, especially, like I said, they put me on the bottom of the pile. I know that my references and my skills are wanting, because they are all real work experience, which somehow does not count when these guys have so many paper certifications. Which are full of shit. I've been DOING this shit for years. They've taken a TEST for competency, and they look better on paper. My skills don't really translate to paper well.

Well, what can I say about that? Cry? Whine? I have other things to cry and whine about. Bitchy little things. Like my nonexistent love life. I have none. There is no one on the horizon, no one in the close up. It's like I shut womankind out of my life. It's like I've been avoiding them. Maybe that's what I have been doing, avoiding them for reasons unknown. I'm in love though. With an unattainable vision, an image of a perfect woman that is far beyond my grasp. Why do I do this to myself? Because I want to.

I like building sand castles in the sky. I like to go blue sky mining. I like to dream of red heads, with rosy, freckled skin, floating on the air. A wind sylph. Unattainable, ethereal, magical. Why a red head? I don't know. God made her that way, I'm just going with the flow here. I want to write poetry about her every day, but a man has to draw the line somewhere, right? Not every day. Every other day.

I have to start looking for earthy, fleshly women. Womankind, not the near invisible, the sweet voice from the air, no but a vision of beauty right here on earth. Something that I can lay ahold of, touch, feel, taste. Oh come off it. I'm a homeless bastid. Think about it. I am the WORST husband, boyfriend that a woman would want to meet, much less get all involved with. I am in the worst position to be in. "What do you do for a living?" Nothing. I live off the state essentially, until I can find a real job up in Rochester, New York. Well, they looked like they were hiring aggressively on craigslist. We'll see. "Oh really," she'll reply and then follow a serving tray right away from me. Like I would be at the dinner party in the first place.

Well that's alright. What does anyone expect of me anyway? To split the atom? To find the cure for the common cold? What would you want from me, fresh off the street, just a year from a men's shelter, and two from the streets? I have not made much of a change in my life. I'm still low on the totem pole. And here I go again, talking about my life, or my lack thereof. Bitchin', whinin' and moanin'. What is wrong with me. LIFE is LIFE. It is what you make of it. You can't find it. You can't search it out. You can't put it on autopilot, or even wander down the road of it. Life is inhalation and exhalation. Life is feeling the wind on your face, the smell of good, fresh bread, the velvet touch of a woman's skin, the sight of a glorious sunset, the sharp, salty smell of the sea. Life is for the living, those with beating hearts.

If we enjoy four walls, and the Internet, if we enjoy music all day, and writing, and making characters and putting them through their paces. If we enjoy peace and quiet, and solitude. If we love anything, anyone, anyhow, then we are alive. And if we are alive, we are living a life. I have a life, I need to recognize that. Now I'm beginning to sound like my Guru.


"what if you wanted to become a more desirable man for yourself?? for the world? for the cosmos? for the akashic records? for even your society of poets? for even the streets of new york? for even the man who drinks his morning coffee? who fixes an occasional bachelor meal?"

I am living a life. Excuse me, while I kiss the sky.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/11/bottom-of-pile.html
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