Actually, things could be far worse.
What I thought was going to be a mildly alarming health issue turned out to not be so bad.
With the help of an awesome person, I've managed to score a new source for drugs. This previous sentence, in my twenties, would have been far more sinister; in my fifties, the drugs in question are for high blood pressure and cholesterol control. (I was on a regimen of four meds in Japan. It turns out that only the BP and cholesterol meds are prescription here. The stroke-prevention medication is a baby aspirin, and the pills to deal with stomach complications from the other three is just Pepcid AC.)
I have a car and a job, although there are caveats to both. The car is a rental and the job is driving for-hire. I have to work six days a week or so and drive in Seattle during rush hour traffic, which is less than optimal and quite stressful, and if I don't work, I don't get paid. There's no boss, but neither are there any benefits.
I have a home, albeit another temporary one. This should see me into spring of next year, though. I've got a room in a friend's house, and there's space for all my stuff, and there's a bed. It's warm and dry and the WiFi is good and the neighborhood is quiet and there's a nice park nearby for running, and my favorite pub is a few blocks away.
So things don't suck, as such.
I still have some issues, however. The job hunting process is long and daunting, and fraught with blatant ageism, a market that isn't great for generalists, and the not-uncommon outright scam attempt.
I'm disappointed, and disillusioned, and beginning to feel like there are things that are permanently off the table for me. A decent job with good pay and benefits, for one. I'm not feeling the love for actual experienced and educated managers and consultants. This is largely due to the massive HR apparatus that surrounds so many companies these days, much in the same way that Eptatretus stoutii, the Pacific hagfish, covers itself in a protective layer of mucus to protect itself from predators. These useless slimebags manage to keep just about everything from gaining access, and whether or not I'm still talking about the sea creature or the corporate gatekeepers I will leave as an exercise to the reader. Suffice it to say that I've had one count 'em one proper interview since I returned to the US at the beginning of August. Hagfish, by the way, are ultimately farmed and skinned and made into a sort of leather. A word to the wise for the HR professional.
I can't see home ownership happening for me, either. My finances are shredded, of course, and that's of my own doing. But holy smokes, the median home price in King County is $632,000. I don't think I've made that much money in my entire life, and I've been working full-time since I was sixteen years old. That's not happening. Hell, I'm having a hard time finding an apartment that I can afford.
No work stability and no financial stability doesn't exactly fire up the ladies, either. It's not as though I was ever a raging success with women to start with. I mean, I've had girlfriends, but God only knows how that happened, because I sure don't.
Put all this together and let's do a quick calculation of my overall worth to myself and society as a whole. Whoops, you have to send out to CERN to get numbers that small.
I feel completely useless and without value. I'm not accomplishing anything. There is no stability in my life. If I died, some people might be temporarily upset, but I sure can't see anyone giving a damn. (OBLIGATORY ASIDE: No, I'm not suicidal.)
I'm not really sure how to end this. Frankly, I should have stopped after the hagfish bit, which was at least sort of funny.
I just want to be worth something.
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