Argle bargle.

It’s days like today that make me wish I’d gone into physical therapy. Not that I have any interest in physical therapy or anything, but if I was in that field I could name my fucking price, instead of fishing around trying to talk someone into letting me do their filing or answer their phones or stock their shelves. How many fucking physical therapists does one town need?

Job hunting fills me with the blackest of depression. I absolutely hate having unemployment hanging over my head like this — but there’s only so much I can do about it on my own. I need someone else’s cooperation to fix it, and I can’t make them do it. The only solution is to keep trying.

Of course, the bigger problem, at least as far as this blog is concerned, is that focusing on this absolutely saps my will to write. If I had anything to talk about, that’d be one thing, but I don’t, and I’m not kindly disposed towards the idea of trying to dream something up after banging my head against the wall all afternoon. So, as much as I’d like to post something funny or informative or enlightening here today, I’m afraid I simply don’t have it in me. Sorry.

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