Unemployment Chronicles: Vol. 3 — Knock, knock

I keep seeing the digits on the clock. Most recently it was 11:11.
I had my sister look into the numbers for me, just out of pure curiosity because this keeps happening to me, daily. And to see if it sheds any light on life situations. You know the 1, 11, 4, 44, they keep appearing in my life.

This is what she came up with:
The number one, a few attributes; independence, leadership skills, ambition, strong will, driven, great potential for success, as well as stubborn, impatient, pride, demands respect and attention ...
While the number four, indicates stability, after all it takes four legs on a table to make it stand sturdy, other things were practical, dependable, orderly, and once again, stubborn, bossy, too serious ... there was mention of four seasons in a year and four directions on a compass, but all I could really say to it all is, hmmmm, interesting.

She also suggested that I look at the numbers 3 and 5 for obvious reasons. Do some math!

It's been some time since my last correspondence. Guess I had to let the experience of being unemployed soak in, because something tells me I'm not going to be able to do it for long.
Mama, says a person with my skills and talents can't stay unemployed long, someone will snatch me up.
"Chics dig guys with skills."
But something tells me that's not the kind of snatching up she was referring to.
My partner in the snipers bullet has left. More urgent matters call from her native land. I'm content with the new role as calm-assertive pack leader.

Life spins sometimes.
Where to go when my equilibrium returns?


My conversation with a Just man, a journalism vet, urged me to remain optimistic. There will always be a need for the skills I posses. After all, he had always preached, there is money to be made in this industry.

Optimistic I remained. Knowing I have a longing to craft the written word, and to make a living at doing so again would be cool. But how?

They came a knocking. The same company that thrust me from the journalism industry more than a year prior, called when an opening became available, as I was the next name on the callback list. The position that had become open, happened to be an offer for my old job, the education reporter. About a half hour prior to the call, I had already known the position had come available — gotta love social networking.

Although a year away for the industry gave me much more appreciation for the craft and the lifestyle, what wise man hops back on the sinking Titanic without a plan to patch up the hole?
So I respectfully declined and made a pass similar to that suggested by the young pledges of G Phi G in School Dayz.

After a trip along the Pacific Coast by train for a brief weekend visit to San Diego, I continued to ponder if I had made the right decision. Regardless, I made it. And I pride myself on my ability to be decisive.

Photos also by James Joyce III/ First: Statue by E. Barrias 1893 the Tomb of Anatole de la Forge in Père Lachaise Cemetery. Second: Statue at Père LaChaise Cemetery.

Unemployment Chronicles: Vol. 2

The sky was crying for a week upon my return from the southwest. Maybe a projection, possibly a reflection.

It's hard to tell.

On the first day that I was no longer getting paid, our earth shook. Was that a call and response?

I can't express my need for her in the most convenient way. I have tried to contact my sugar mama several times, to no avail. True to form, I need special handling. So I phone her.
She doesn't answer. Knowing I'll need her, I crawl. I go to her gatekeeper who gives me a basic card to her riches.
I step back through the teary sky.
Cheap movie matinee: $3, the world as we know it just may end in 2012. The signs are there.
Take a step back, send a message to sugar mama through courier.

The ocean pushes the surfers away, yet he continues to tempt her. Keep casting.

In my nest, I rest, but haven't quit. Days pass without spending. Time is money in the bank though. The self-imposed confinement is both good and necessary. The tears had a great deal to do with that.

While my meager job searching efforts have yet to bear fruit, the crying broke as I pursued the allure to go green. The four of us were young, professional and at varying levels of ambition. The gathering at the Staples Center boasted job opportunities in various green industries.

Perhaps a sign of the times, there were fewer than 10 companies in the job expo section. I walked past. Another sign of the times, some of the booths were requesting donations for the swag. The promise of swag was part of the draw.

Now an experience adding to the fuel to allow things to continue to percolate on the back burner. With visions of a burner strapped across my back, the whole world is in attack mode.

The clock keeps hitting triple digits, 1:11 twice, 4:44 the most memorable. Make a wish, use my foundation and grow.
The pen is my discipline and it is indeed mightier than the sword. Or at least works in consort.

Unemployment Chronicles: Vol. 1

In the cross hairs of my sniper's scope, I was a marked man. Knowing my days were numbered I lumbered on.
Treating each day as it could be my last. I endured this pleasure for more than three weeks.

Spotter ready. Shooter ready ... two shots were fired. One of them hit me.
Many would see it as an assassination attempt. I find it rather liberating, no longer espoused to the regimented lifestyle, once again.

This had been my immediate life raft after being thrust from the sinking journalism industry the year prior.
This time, the weight on my shoulders lighter, but not without wounds. Paths abundant and murky. Outlook still cautiously optimistic. Opportunity floats about.
With this newly instilled freedom, I first broke north into the wilderness. Then southwest for a reunion across the desert.

Life is best when lived. Yet my soul remains insatiable.
These are the loose chronicles of an unemployed man.