Death spiral

Today, I am contained.  The spark I remember having is quiet today.

Perhaps its the snow.  We had over a foot of snow yesterday, and it's the deepest snow I have ever seen.  It is bright white and sparkling and brilliant.  In some places, it is a crust of perfection over the surface of things.  The pretty tree branches, the expanse of the back yard, the rooftops of our neighboring houses.  In some places, it's already broken and dirty.  Piles in the front yard from the snow plow, chunks of icy whiteness that have broken off our patio ledges, the paths in the yard that we scraped clean to encourage the dogs not to pee in the house.

Alpha stayed home yesterday, pacing and chafing.  He tried to go to work, before the snow got too bad in the morning.  Seven blocks from home, he decided that caution was better, and came back.  (His work had contacted us the night before, and told him he didn't have to go, but he is a workaholic in the most incredible sense.)

The search for employment continues to elude me.  It grates on me.  I got an email today from a job site, which occasionally sends me positions I might want to apply for.  Today, they sent me the posting for the job I was fired from in November.  Lets just poor some salt in the wound, shall we?  Am I too picky?  I am simply uninspired.  Finding something to apply for is like, the drudgery of my world.  I am so conflicted, and I'm so sick of moaning about it.  Just, someone, fix my problem already?

And that makes me hate myself more.  One thing I cannot stand in others is the unwillingness to strive forward to change their circumstances.  You have no right to complain about a situation that you have the power to change, and don't.  Now, if you're doing your damned best, and things still aren't working, I will listen to an occasional pity party.  But I'm just being a hypocrite.  I could go find a job at a grocery store.  I could be a waitress.  It doesn't solve my need for health insurance, but it would get me out of the house and become a productive member of society again.  I need to do something.

The real debate is, am I really cut out to be what I've grown up wanting to be?  Not everyone can be president of the United States, no matter what our mothers say.  If I don't pass the exam this year, it is the end.  You thought I was self-loathing before?  You haven't even seen it yet.  If I actually, officially, end of the road, fail?  Then I will have to find a new career.  A new fucking career.  Sixty thousand dollars of student loans in the toilet.  Five years of my marriage, and I practically have ptsd from the debacle that was graduate school.  On good days I say, "I won't let it defeat me.  This is what I'm supposed to be doing."  But on bad days, I just look in the mirror and look defeated.

And work out.  Stop complaining about your body, already, and fucking get up and change it.  Meh.  No wonder I seem to present poorly on phone interviews.