Fair to partly fuckass...

or How, after another Shittastic day of training, I'm finally writing again.

I know, I know. It’s been awhile, huh?

Especially since it’s AGES when I updated last. To my surprise, there’s a unpublished draft that I have here where I talked about my being let go from my former job. Into the wilds of funemployment and financial ennui. Into the unknown of thoughts about what I wanted to do in life. A very “meh” kind of era.

Then the call came. What a hilarious piece of timing for me, honestly. Who else would get a call from a city job on Christmas Eve while I was unaware and conveniently sober from smoking weed? At the same fatherfuckin’ time?!

Madness.

And so began DOMQUEST: THE SOMEWHAT NEVERENDING PRE-EMPLOYMENT arc. Featuring snarky office people, movement from one office to another, Medical holds and the magical tap-dancin’ disappearing unemployment funds variety hour. Gasp as Dom tries to remember information from 1997-2009 while juggling paperwork at the same time! Watch as Dom peruse through the complex horsefuckery of whelming Job Onboarding! See Dom sweat bullets as they run to the medical records office of their local clinic to get SIX months of medical records for the Company’s doctors. Marvel as Dom tries to get their shit together while being dirt poor, but spirit wealthy!

Ooooh! Ahhhh!

That rough patch of weirdness took from late December of last year to the 8th of APRIL.

Once the dust had settled, I found myself in a … interesting position.

Against the odds, despite losing hope, (and the poor planning practices of the company itself… Like, I applied for this position on a Hail Mary whim in ‘22 and I forgot all about it until the call) and through this wacky slapstick of a employment process…

I have a city job.

Weeeeeelllllll… not really? It’s more complex than I imagined.

But, if I play my cards right, if I keep humble, if I make sure to never waiver in my willpower and conviction, if I can screw my courage to the sticking place and put myself FIRST and FOREMOST…

If I can just stop cursing for five fucking minutes…

I can have a career that I’m proud of.

I can have a platform to go up. To go further beyond.

I can finish my education and get a degree to move up in the world. I can find satisfaction in a brand new job title that can get me into places in America. Hell, even in other countries.

I can finally be free from the generational survival mode that I’ve inherited and finally live. To save. To pay off debts. To not worry about past/present/future financial pissery. To have the funds to make sure that I can retire in my old age. I can finally have a home to call my own.

MY home.

A pension. Other financial options. Not having to worry about accessing my Social Security when I get to my dad’s age.

BUT.

It comes with multiple hazards. It may come with harassment and assault, it may come with tiring days and questionable hours. It may leave me with pains, scars, burns and other ailments. It may well lead to my bloody-ass bloody demise if I fuck up and let my guard down for a femtosecond.

I’m also on probation for a year. My record has to be flawless, I can’t be late AT ALL. There’s the threat of me being drug tested at random, even if my title is not safety sensitive. I have to make sure I have the right knowledge for the practical exam to pass. In order for me to move to a different title, a different department, a different goddamned thing at all, I have to be socially dead.

Repetitive job with little or no social life. Being a living ghost to friends and family.

Being an annoying stickler for rules and regulations. I have make sure that I adhere to everchanging policies that can be applied one day and gone and rewritten for the next. I have to deal with new things for the job because the people who had this title before me ruined it with their actions. Still are, actually.

With the dizzying highs, the crumbling depth of lows and the rat-filed creamy middles, I find myself on a start of a new path that can either last a hour, a day or years.

… I am fine with all of it. I have come to terms with this job and all that comes with it.

I have to be.

Especially since it could be the next best thing for me, or it could be my downfall.

Or… it can be a really funny-ass story I can tell some starry-eyed young person as they play some vague Euro house/Jock Jam remix at the robot-manned old folks home that they chuck my ass into.

Either way… I’m all in.

Right now, I’m quietly typing away at my laptop as I wonder if I should get dinner first or shower after the long day I had. I’m week two of four of training. It’s akin like military training where you had to make sure that every T is crossed and every I is dotted. I’ve not looked at my phone in a while. I should, since my classmate is asking me for things she should’ve asked the instructor ages ago. I haven’t been this frustrated, annoyed, pissy, and tired in years. Even more than Parks, even more than Pantry work.

Thankfully, I’m sleeping in for tomorrow morning. But I have to go in for a training class from 1500 to 2300 hours. I’m thinking about making flash cards for the practical.

I’m too tired to go out anymore, but I love seeing the city in funny shapes and sounds before the sun rises.

It’s a miracle that this amount of tired made me just want to write. I’m surprised I could right now.

But yeah… that’s been me.

How are you, Constant Reader?

What has your journey been like so far? Are you well? Have you eaten yet?