Openly Giving Thanks

This time of year is my favorite. Gathering family and friends to eat, drink, laugh, watch football and relax together. What's not to like?

Traditionally, I would be also using this festive time to buy a boatload of gifts for those family and friends, including hostess gifts for the parties I'll attend and wine and ornaments for those who allow me to stay in their home.

Clearly, money is tight this year (tight is probably an understatement) so the gifts will be light. However, I can still express my thanks and appreciation to people in this forum.

Therefore, on this most American of holidays, let me openly give thanks.

Open hearts.
I am thankful most of all for the people in my life that make it worthwhile. Those in my life who love unconditionally; those who support me through the ups and the downs; those special people who allow themselves to be vulnerable, trusting in the future despite the unknown; those who care and aren't afraid to express it; those who make me laugh, let me cry and tell me I'm going to be ok.

Open minds.
Speaking as a casualty of this hard economy, I am thankful for the open minds of the American people to look beyond the norm, the comfortable and the easy to nominate and elect the right person for the job. I am inspired, excited and invested more than ever before in the future of this country, and believe that we are armed to attack the problems head on. And, as with any other relationship, I trust and have faith that the best is yet to come.

Open arms.
Is there anything easier to be thankful for than the welcoming arms of a giant hug? This is also a thank you to those who have, or will, host me throughout this holiday season. As one who lives 1,000 miles from her immediate family, it is a privilege and a joy to visit with and stay in the homes of extended family and the family of those I care about. I look forward to toasting, laughing, sharing and dining with my aunt and uncles, cousins and Brett's family this year. It will be delicious in every sense of the word.

Open doors.
I hate to do it, but this one is tangible. I am thankful for the doors of the fridge opening, revealing plates of turkey glazed to perfection, stuffing that is fluffy yet crispy, potatoes that are mashed and delightful, pumpkin pie and other pastries that are sugary and scrumptious and for the wine, beer and cider to flow to accompany the feast. I can't help it, but I have been anxiously awaiting the food, and the leftovers, for days. Maybe it is partly due to the unemployed diet of grilled cheese, soup, cereal and pasta, but I'm game.

Open windows.
With the overused metaphor, I would also like to be thankful for the windows that open when a door closes. With a fervor that is usually reserved for a slick salesman, I have been networking, contacting, communicating, following up, emailing, calling, touching base with and reaching out to everyone that I know in this industry, and it is working. I am not yet working, but I trust that that is still to come.

I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving and hope that you are sharing the time with your family, friends and loved ones. I am thankful that you all have allowed me this creative forum, this place to share my feelings, this expression of my opinions, stories and aforementioned ups and downs.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Love,

Colleen

Time Warp

While plotting to find my next big thing, I have also allowed myself to have the TV on in the background. When I'm not watching (or just listening to, as it may be) HGTV, I discovered a little guilty pleasure.

Reruns of Beverly Hills 90210.

The original.

They run back-to-back on the SOAP channel in the afternoon, and I am sucked in. I feel like I'm 14 again, watching the premiere episode on a luxury bus while on the 8th Grade Trip to Savannah. The poor driver. He wanted to go home, and yet we wouldn't get off the bus after dinner for fear of missing on glance at Brandon's hair, one outfit sported by Kelly, one mean comment by Brenda.

The topics hold up okay 16 years later, and the acting isn't THAT bad. For what it was. I still think Andrea was too old to be cast as a high school/college student, because she was my age now back then. She has mom hair for crying out loud.

The clothes, however, make me laugh out loud. The denim shirts! The cut off shorts! The shiny black vests over white t-shirts! The baggy jeans cinched with a braided leather belt! They look so ridiculous now, but I have to admit back then I was smitten.

Today, I caught myself, leaving the room to put my lunch dishes away, humming along to the theme song and double-fist-pumping in the air during THAT part of the song. You know you've done it.

So embarrassed. I really hope my neighbors didn't see that.

I Had a Dream

I had a dream about Obama the other night.

I know, that almost sounds like a poorly-scripted mashup of historical statements and I don't mean any disrespect to Dr. King.

But, I did. Sunday night I spent the evening watching the "60 Minutes" interview with the Obamas and on my lap rested a handful of recent magazines (Time, Rolling Stone, People) all featuring his charming face on the cover. I'm guessing that it all seeped into my sub-conscious, and created a very active imagination in my sleep.

Before you go thinking I'd be interested in having an extra-marital affair with the President-elect, let me clarify. In my dream, he wasn't married, but he was most definitely the soon-to-be leader of the free world. I don't recall much, as I'm prone to do with dreams no matter how vivid, but it felt pretty real at the time.

I recall being shuttled in and out of back doors under the protection of the U.S. Secret Service, and I was dressed up in ball gowns, pants suits and other fancy outfits that befitted a woman dating the man who was to live at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I remember standing off-stage while he commanded a podium, and receiving him as he exited the spotlight. I remember sitting across from him at a dimly lit restaurant talking for hours. I remember telling my friends, in hushed and excited tones, that I was dating the President-elect.

Maybe I've seen "The American President" one too many times?

When I told Brett about the dream, instead of feeling self-conscious about the state of our relationship, he rather said, "I'm guessing you're not the only woman in America who is dreaming about Obama." He may be right.

But, frankly, I'm content to have him be my President, not my date. However appealing that mega-watt smile, calm persona and sharp intellect may be.

Will Work for Food

Yes. I am alive.

I realize that after over a year of posting a blog almost every day, the last month of quiet must seem like a decade. I certainly would have to agree.

The thing is, honestly, this unemployment thing is just no fun at all. And it is loaded with cliches.

I don't resent the support, but it is a bit hard to believe anyone anymore.

Everyone keeps telling me to keep my head up (or chin, take your pick) and that something will come my way, and that doors close and windows open, and that blessings come in disguise, and that good things are just around the corner and that I should be grateful for this time off, and that I am great and super and fantastic and fabulous and the next best thing and blah blah blah.

I just don't believe it anymore.

The thing is—I like work. I like being busy. I like feeling like I'm contributing. And, I think most of all, I like feeling like I accomplished something each day. Big or small, it was just nice to feel like I achieved something after getting out of bed.

These days, a shower is a true accomplishment.

Not to say that I'm being totally lazy; no, it is more like an eternal quest to nowhere. A bridge, perhaps.

Each day, after crawling reluctantly out of bed, I toil on the computer (borrowed, and now mine) and stare at job boards, and decline sales jobs, and refresh my resume, and tweak my portfolio, and send emails to everyone I know in the industry, and inquire about any possible opportunities, and network in every way I know how, and then I start all over again.

And, I wait. I wait for the recruiter to call. I wait for the HR department to decide. I wait for the response to the email. I wait for the interviewer to come get me in the lobby. I wait for the bus afterwards and wonder how it went. I wait for the unemployment office to return my call. I wait for them to see me at the unemployment office. I wait for the weekend when other people are free to play. I wait for the call.

At the end of the day, I just don't feel accomplished. I think this is the hardest part of being unemployed, save for the long hours of no interaction that I have while toiling and waiting and toiling and waiting on my own.

It is amazing to realize that when you're employed, you identify yourself by what you do, where you work, what industry you're in, and how long you've been doing it. It is the first question that comes up at a party, and when you don't have an answer, you just feel like you're the one that showed up to the party naked. With a funny hat on your head.

I have no identity right now, and I'm bored and lonely and sick of making lists of the small house projects that I can do that don't cost anything and laundry and dishes and vacuuming and making the bed only take up so much time.

I'm going a little bit nuts, by the minute, by the day. I can't even bring myself to update my Facebook status all that regularly. What would I write? "Colleen is...still unemployed." "Colleen is sick of unemployment." "Colleen is staring at her computer." "Colleen wishes she could afford to go Christmas shopping."

Or, the most accurate, "Colleen is waiting."

And then there is the screwy unemployment office. This is the U.S. Government at work, people. I have officially only received payment for one of the last four weeks that I've been filing, and the payment was apparently for week two. Where the heck is the meager pittance for week one? Calling the offices are not productive, either, and sitting in their waiting room, you realize how many people are in this boat and that there is no chance that you're going to get called by the time they close at 5 pm. I believe that it is clear that they need more clerks—because one is just not appropriate—and ironically, I can count, uh, let's say, 400 people in the waiting room staring at you that may be willing to work here?

It is that bad.

Yep. Life as an unemployed person is just not so much fun. Therefore, I have been silent on the blog. I don't think there is much else I can say. But, with access to a computer now, I'll try to come up with something.

In the meantime, I go back to waiting. And, unfortunately, so must you.

(Mom, don't worry. I haven't made a cardboard sign just yet. I can't afford the Sharpies.)