Monday to Friday Blues

   There is no time I hate more than working hours during the week. Not for the reason you would think though, it’s not that I hate my job and I would rather be anywhere else. Quite the contrary, I hate these hours because I don’t have a job. I haven’t for months since getting back to Canada. I could sit here and victimize myself and claim it’s a recession time or that the “system” doesn’t favour thinkers and dreamers, like in my moments of self indulgence I like to believe I am, but the truth is apathy has surfaced  as a coping mechanism. Pleasures can’t be enjoyed during these hours, because not unlike a person that bought something they felt they shouldn’t, doing things you would normally consider fun creates a feeling of guilt. That is the action of a “normal” mind trying to sanction itself in order to focus itself to the task at hand. However, like a white elephant in the room, trying not to have any “fun” till properly sanctioned times – like the later evening or weekends - is a focus diverter in of itself especially with diversion a click away on a computer.

     Monday to Friday sitting here on the one specific cushion that hasn’t sunk in on our brown, slightly grungy, couch I feel sometimes like my truest job lies before me - keeping the motivation to keep on doing this. The game is layered on thick here in Toronto. Resume creation now involves - as directed by resumes “professionals” –   looking at job requirements for specific jobs and placing those requirements directly inside your resume. I was a bit confused by this at first...  aren’t you supposed to list your skills for employer’s consideration, your real skills that is? As opposed to just saying you have what they want. It actually sort of seems to defeat the purpose of a resume at all. However, the job skills listed are so generic and abstract – things like: superior organization skills; adept people skills; magnificent multi tasking – that there’s always a way to claim that you have them.  It took awhile to get use to this and that was before dealing with the North American interview, which has felt worse than selling yourself during a first date. After five failed interviews already, after a nearly spotless European/ Australian interview success rate, I’ve realized that the interview here is just an extension of the phoniness of the resume.

        As a vehicle for my self esteem I consider myself unique. I’m not alone on that one. You’d probably be depressed if you didn’t consider there to be something special about your own subjective experience. An issue is though - if I, and everyone else for that matter, are unique than wouldn’t we all need unique jobs that befit that status?  At one time or another I have done pretty much every type of job. As a traveler, I had a skill, or I guess you could say penchant, for things just coming to me be it a good job – my first copy writing job came through sheer chance – or a shit one at a necessary time – when I moved to Amsterdam with 500 bucks and somehow got a dish washing job about a day before I was set to join the homeless population. I always felt fortune favoured the brave and for that reason something would always come. And it did, though not always in shimmering form.  I’ve done loads of shit work: fruit picking, sales, warehouse, labour, landscaping, data entry, customer service... I even cleaned a yaught one day in Sydney harbour. The thing is being “home” the feeling is that you should do something that personifies you and this purported “uniqueness”...  The issue with this is that other unique people also feel they should work in media as well and there is a vast sea of competition. Often ten plus interviewees for one position...  

    The hardest is maintaining motivation to play this game. Scanning through want ads, feeling pangs of guilt as the wealth of cyberspace constantly calls me somewhere else... if just for a minute, then another. Maybe that is the writer’s curse, glorifying themselves, but surely I can’t be the only one who has ever suffered the Monday to Friday blues? Having the sense of dread as the weekend comes to a close and knowing that I face another week ahead here on the brown cushion.