May 03, 2002 | 11:58 AM

8P) ## Harvard Ave

During my job search, I see myself as a soldier in a war for my heart, soul and sanity. It is grueling and painful and filled with loneliness and denial. I wake up every morning with sadness and anxiety nibbling at my determination like a giant parasite. I have been cut off from the only adult world I�ve ever known.

After I am downsized, friends from the Stupid Company want to hang out with me. They call and call and call. Finally, I call them back and we get together. But most of what they talk about revolves around the Stupid Company. And I realize how much of our relationship revolves around working there. I have nothing to say to them. The intimacy we once shared has been lost. I have been unwittingly ostracized.

I sink into a depression the likes of which I have not felt since my father died. I ask myself over and over again what�s wrong with me? why didn�t they love me? why am I such a failure?.

These questions are futile and not worth asking. Intellectually I know that this is the best thing to ever have happened to me. That I am better than that stupid job. That I am being presented with an opportunity to learn my own worth. That in order to be self actualized, I have to stop seeing every patriarchal authority figure as my dead father. I know all of this and yet,

I can�t imagine things ever feeling OK again. There seems to be nothing to live for. The future is uncertain. And my income has been cut in half as I am living on unemployment insurance while trying to find a job. I can barely afford to eat and pay rent. It is as though I have traveled back in time to my first days after returning to Boston, continually at the mercy of poverty and impending homelessness.

Everything I have worked and sacrificed for has been erased.

I want to fall apart. To lose my shit. To die.

But I grit my teeth and move on because that�s all I can do.

Every morning I wake up and scour internet job sites for possible opportunities. Every afternoon I call job placement agencies. Twice a week I haul my ass downtown to take Powerpoint Tutorials and learn the intricacies of Excel. I spend hours on the phone harassing human resources assistants at the various places I�ve sent my resume. I have upwards of three interviews every week because I will not fucking take no for an answer, god damn�t. I will find the perfect fucking job.

I apply to every non-profit organization and university in the greater Boston area. I even let a job placement agency send me to a few big corporations on interviews, just to get a sense of what goes on there.

These interviews are like bad blind dates where both people hate each other at first sight. My resolve to never again work for Corporate America deepens.

I spend upwards of forty hours a week on my job search. I have something to prove. To The Stupid Company that didn�t love me enough. And to myself.

My rage and pride drive my quest for career satisfaction. I am organized, professional, and ambitious. Devoting myself wholeheartedly to this mission is what keeps me from killing myself.

However I spend whatever time I am not job searching drinking myself into a stupor, hiding beneath the covers and sobbing uncontrollably. I am absolutely positively losing my mind.

The fact that I don�t have health insurance certainly isn�t helping matters any. I am exhausted and unable to concentrate. My thyroid is hardly functioning and my hormones are all out of whack. It seems to me a cruel joke to finally have the knowledge of what is wrong with me, but not be able to do anything about it. I become less and less well after I am diagnosed. I am so exhausted all the time that is an effort to just walk down the street.

Oh my fucking god, I think to myself. I have turned into Liz Taylor.

In the first weeks following my job loss, John behaves as though I am dying of cancer. He is stricken and uncomfortable around me. He tiptoes around my temper. Is conciliatory to a fault. Indulges my crying jags and self-pitying drunken monologues like a nursemaid caring for a feverish child.

And then as time progresses, he loses patience. I can tell he is thinking, God, why do I have to deal with this? Why can�t things just go back to normal? Why won�t she snap out of it and just be happy for me that I still have my job?

John begins treating me as though I never worked at the Stupid Company. That it has always been his job, and never mine. That I was never tosses aside and treated like hell and that he never promised to leave.

He comes home from work telling marvelous tales.

Things are going so well now. BigPeter said that Mike and I are doing a great job and that he�s going to give us a raise at some point. And he might send us to Canada on a business trip to monitor the data collection company there. Me and Mike�ll hit those Canadian strip bars and it�ll be so fun. But don�t worry. I won�t get a lap dance or anything. Hah hah.

I gulp down my rum and coke without responding.

Other times John pontificates on the daily ins and outs of The Stupid Company as though it is the most interesting thing in the world.

See XK13 was in the field and at the last minute EvilRene said we had to put five interviewers on GD55, so what I did was I told the five interviewers I picked that if they got 12 completes, they could just leave early. So anyway, we finished the projects right on schedule and everyone is going to be so happy with me tomorrow.

I stare at him through my drunken haze, resentment coursing through my veins like lava.

Hey John?

Yeah.

I don�t really give a flying fuck about what goes on at that fucking place OK? It�s quite possibly the most boring and irrelevant topic of conversation ever.

He gives me a hurt look.

Well at some point I would really like to be able to share my life with you, Anna.

I snort.

Your life? Your fucking life? Oh that�s just rich, honey.

He looks away and I continue.

So. When are you planning on leaving?

Oh. Um....you know. Soon.

I roll my eyes and pour myself another drink.

Of course you are. Why don�t you promise again to make it sound more honest.

John gets pissed.

Look. I�m doing really well there and I wanna see what happens. Maybe I�ll get a promotion. BigPeter says that all kinds of good thing are going to happen for Mike and me...

I bang my fist on the table.

ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? HOW STUPID ARE YOU? WHAT IS IT GOING TO TAKE FOR YOU TO SEE WHAT A DEAD END THAT PLACE IS? DO YOU NOT EVEN REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED TO ME? DO YOU NOT EVEN REMEMBER WHAT I WAS TOLD ONE FUCKING DAY BEFORE I WAS AXED?

John goes to the refrigerator and gets himself another beer. He states simply,

Things are different there now.

I fumble for my cigarettes.

Does it bother you that when I get a job, a 9-5 job, we�ll never ever see each other? I mean, you never get home before 10:30 at night. Does that bother you?

John shrugs.

Why don�t you get a night job?

I think to myself, why is it always me who has to make the sacrifices? Why do I always have to be the person to adapt to your behavior?

A thousand memories swirl like a cyclone through my brain.

Moving back to Boston and facing multiple insane living situations just to be with John.

The three abortions.

John telling me he wanted to be a teacher. That he was going to grad school.

Finding out he was nominated for that award his senior year.

John begging me to say it was OK if he worked at the Stupid Company and me reluctantly capitulating.

John promising to leave The Stupid Company after six months and never leaving.

Being laid off and sobbing in his arms as he stated emphatically that he wasn�t going to stay there after what had happened to me.

I clench my fists. I am beyond furious.

I scream at him.

What is fucking wrong with you? Don�t I mean anything to you? Are you seriously telling me that a fucking idiotic marketing research firm is more important to you than I am?

John answers calmly.

I don�t really see why where we work has to define our relationship, Anna.

I can�t believe what I�m hearing.

WELL IT FUCKING WOULDN�T IF YOU HAD NEVER BEEN SO FUCKING COMPLACENT. IF YOU�D GONE OUT AND GOTTEN YOUR OWN FUCKING JOB.

John�s voice rises.

I understand why you�re upset. You got laid off. It�s upsetting. But that�s not my fault.

All the words I want to say swim around like a school of fish trapped in a small bowl.

I look into his eyes and I know. I just know that he will never love me that way that I love him. That in any given situation he will take the path of least resistance. And I know in my heart of hearts that had this situation been reversed, had he been the one laid off in such a thoroughly insulting manner, I would have gotten my resume together in a day and would be out pounding the pavement looking for something else. Because I would never have stayed somewhere that treated the man I love so shabbily.

I put my head in my hands and I cry and cry.

John walks into the other room and turns on the TV.

Stay Tuned for Part the Sixty-Fourth...

Long ago and oh so far away

I fell in love with you before the second show

Your guitar, it sounds so sweet and clear

But you're not really here

It's just the radio

Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby

You said you'd be coming back this way again baby

Baby, baby, baby, baby, oh, baby, I love you I really do

Loneliness is a such a sad affair

And I can hardly wait to be with you again

What to say to make you come again

Come back to me again

And play your sad guitar

Read the Saga from the

VERY BEGINNING

time capsule from heaven - Sunday, Aug. 21, 2011
31 - Saturday, Mar. 15, 2008
Dead/Alive - Monday, Mar. 10, 2008
Do not trustTIAA-CREF-- they are fucking their customers - Friday, Jul. 28, 2006
Shilling - Tuesday, Jul. 11, 2006

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