Never Enough

Pic of the day:  Lost in the Storm, by Richard Ansdell


With despair, true optimism begins: the optimism of the man who expects nothing, who knows he has no rights and nothing coming to him, who rejoices in counting on himself alone and in acting alone for the good of all.

Jean-Paul Sartre, Characterizations of Existentialism


The end is nigh!…  or at least personally closer than it appeared before I woke up this morning at any rate.  I got news that I had about 30 working days left at my job some time in August, I don’t remember the day to be honest.  The reason I had only 30 days left was because the place I work at gives non permanent employees a maximum of 128 working days per year to work.  This keeps them from being a serious threat to the job security of the permanent employees, as I recall.

Well today I went through my days with a fine tooth comb.  And when I say went through my days I mean went through my total hours and extrapolated the amount of days I had worked from them.  If the number isn’t exact, it is at the very least close.  A paycheck with 35.75 hours on it meant I worked 5 days that pay period, 60 hours meant 8 days and so on.  According to that metric, I have been paid for a total of 120 days.

Meaning I have 8 days of work left on this particular job.  But it gets better.  I worked 3 days last week, and have one day on the schedule this week.  Meaning at best I have 5 days left, 4 if you count next Tuesday.

Did I mention that because I measured hours and not listed work days that my numbers may be off? Oh good.

Well, this is how I asked them to do it. To give me as many days worked as possible up front.  And I asked them to do it that way for a reason, and it is a pretty basic one.  I need as much money as I can get, as this is my only job.  It does me no good to work one or two days a week and barely squeak by.  I need to work every possible day I can and get as much money in the coffers as is possible.

Not that it would be a lot, but it is the difference between having enough money to keep food on the table until I can find another job (or until next year comes around and I can maybe get back in temping where I am now) or linger, just barely making enough to live, or more likely not making enough to live but keep working in drips and drabs.

A quick end is preferable to a slow one, I guess.

And as much as this is the way that I asked things to be done, it still feels like having a scab ripped off of a wound.  It hurts like hell and I am not in the least happy about it.  I had hoped I would impress these people enough that I would get a permanent job.  But the list is full, they don’t need anyone, so I am flat out of luck that way.  Hopes crushed.  I had hoped after I found out that the list was full that by sending out resumes that I would be able, to use an oft used term “hit the ground running” and make a seamless transition from one job to another without a break in between.  I’ve sent out the resumes.  Crushed again.  No one has bitten yet.


I will keep trying because I have to, because I have no choice.  There is no success without effort, and I have been giving it my best for quite a while.  Like flotsam and jetsam I float along on the currents of the job market, pushed this way and that by forces beyond my control, but with the tide, with every new job opportunity I return to try to make landfall, trying to get that full time job, claw my way onto safe dry ground again after years of being adrift.  For everything I do, I feel like it is never enough.  I do everything I can do, same thing I have done for years on end.  It’s all I can do.

And it is insanity to do the same thing over and over again and expect different results.  But it is the only thing to do, I must wait for the world to change, for some outside force to alter it’s course and come to me.  I can only do what I do, send out resumes and hope, dress my best, put my bravest face and biggest smile forward and persevere, keep on keeping on.

Hope springs eternal.


That’s it from here, America.  G’night.


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