Unemployable

I can't sleep.

I had an iced mocha at 7:42. Any caffeine after 6 pm and I have a hard time falling asleep. I'm an old man. Get off my lawn, you kids.

I dozed off for about fifteen minutes, but then Vicki started rattling around in her cage and woke me up. Also, I was hungry. I had a peanut butter and banana sandwich for dinner. Not exactly the most filling of meals. I was hungry at midnight, but decided I'd try to sleep it off. Hunger doesn't work like that though.

In order to appease said hunger, I prepared myself an exquisite little snack. Two slices of pepperoni, six Ritz crackers, a chunk of Gouda cheese and a Honeymoon. Beer always makes me sleepy. Food to calm the hunger, alcohol to erase the effects of caffeine. We'll see if it works.

I've also been fretting about life choices I've made. Second thoughts about Second City and all that. Don't get me wrong, I'm loving the improv. I'm learning a whole lot and even when I have an off day (like today), I'm still performing at a much higher level than I did at any point in Houston. I'm expanding my improv repertoire and getting better everyday. It's not so much about regretting the decision to come here for improv, it's more about regretting
a) not following through with engineering
b) not following through with the Technical Communications masters program
c) not getting any internship experience while I was at Rice
all of which are making it very difficult to find a job here in Chicago. Or at least a decent paying job that I would enjoy.

Man, Vicki is going crazy right now. I bought her a new toy on the way back from rehearsal today. It's a monkey toy. She is loving the shit out of that thing. Not sexually, but in the sense that she's having so much fun tearing it apart.

I love that dog. I tell her all the time. In fact, just to prove it to you, I'll tell her right now.

Aw, she jumped on the couch and started licking my belly cus I'm shirtless (try getting that image out of your head). Then she went back to tearing up that monkey.

I'm buzzing, man. The combination of hunger, sleepiness, chugging that Honeymoon and having a low tolerance for any alcohol has made me pretty tipsy.

I was once reprimanded by Carlos Hernandez for saying I was tipsy. "Man, girls get tipsy. Guys get buzzed."

Right now I'm both which explains this outpouring of emotions.

My sister's dog, Oreo, had to be taken to the ER this week. Kimberly found him lying next to a pile of his vomit. He wasn't moving. The vet told them that he had heartworms. Java, our other dog, has them too, but they're still in the larvae stage so they can be easily treated with heartworm medication.

Do you know what heartworms do to dogs? Google it. It's terrifying. The first image I saw made me gag. It looked like spaghetti bursting out of a dog's heart. Then you realize Hey, that's not spaghetti… Holy shit, those are worms!

After staying overnight at the hospital and a $3,000 bill, Oreo is fine now, thankfully, but I felt horrible. Heartworms are easily preventable. It only costs $80 a year for heartworm medication. Yet because I forgot about it, Oreo has parasites tearing apart his cardiovascular system. I'm so irresponsible. With everything. It's not something I'm proud of and I'm trying to fix it. Poor Oreo. My mom mentioned putting him down to ease his pain and I lost it. I hadn't realized how attached I had become to my dogs until she said that.

He's such a silly dog. Silly in the sense that he'll bite anyone who isn't me or my sisters. He might be more aggressive than he is silly, but I love that dog. To ease my conscious, I've been taking extra good care of Vicki. I know it won't make up for the damage the heartworms are doing to Oreo, but at the very least I can ensure that it won't happen to her.

She's on a pillow now, taking a nap. She's not hyper anymore. But she keeps looking at me.

It's weird how dogs can just love you so fully. Every time I get into the apartment, Vicki goes crazy. She's just so happy to see me. Her tail is wagging and she's jumping all over the place. It's ridiculous. And any time I get upset with her, she gets so sad! Tail between her legs, head slouched, dragging her feet. It's so adorable. She lives for me. To play with me, to sleep next to me, to make me happy. Anytime I go back home, Oreo and Java go crazy too. Pawing at my legs, those silly dog smiles plastered on their faces saying GIVE ME ATTENTION! It's crazy.

My irresponsibility is what got Oreo into that mess and I'm determined not to let it happen to my Vicki.

That same irresponsibility and carelessness is also what's gotten me into the current situation. I always told everyone that I made the switch from engineering to English because I liked writing more than I liked doing math and while that's partially true, the bigger reason is that I'm lazy. I didn't feel like spending four to five hours a day doing calculus problems. And now that's coming back to bite me in the ass.

I've started applying for jobs again. I stopped in mid-June and I forgot why until this week. Rejection sucks.

Which made me regret not going through with the masters or engineering. It would've meant postponing Chicago and improv another two years, but at least I'd be able to live on my own as opposed to still leeching off of my parents. I've met improvisors who are busting their ass working two jobs just for the chance to do improv in Chicago and what am I doing? Diddly squat. Well, that's not true.

I've lost weight. I'm in a lot better shape than I was a year ago. I can bench more, I have more endurance and my gut is smaller. I'm working out more, but I'm also walking everywhere. I've walked twelve miles in the past two days. Even at Rice, I don't think I ever walked more than ten miles in any given week. As a result of all the walking, I've got some chafing going on in the crotch region. Looks like I've got herpes on my inner thighs.

(I just image searched herpes on Google. For the love of Jeebus, don't do it. Please don't do it.)

I want to find a job that I like. I honestly don't care if I get paid minimum wage because I know that if I like it, I'll bust my ass for that job and work my way up eventually. However, all of the jobs that I feel I would like are either rejecting me outright or making me wait 2-3 weeks before they send out a rejection e-mail. It blows chunks.

I don't really know what to do. I can get a job at a restaurant, I guess, but then what? After two years, what do I do? There's a ceiling to how much I'll be able to make at any restaurant or retail job or customer service place. It's not very much.

And it's not like I need a ton of money to enjoy life. I don't. Even now, I'm spending approximately $100 a week and that can easily be brought down if I stopped buying mochas from Noble Tree. I can make that much with a minimum wage, part-time job. But I'm serious about Delma and I've been thinking about the future and raising a family and all that and it freaks me out. Not the raising the family part, but the fact that I won't be able to raise a family working at a Starbucks. So there's the problem.

I'm over thinking things, huh? I don't plan on raising a family anytime soon. The earliest I would want to have a kid is 30 and that's still six years away. But those six years are going to go by hella fast. I want to have some stable career by then. Maybe I'll continue doing my improv, get a random job, then go back to school for some other career in two to three years? I don't know. The future is scary.

It's late now. Vicki is definitely passed out and the sleepiness of the beer is kicking in. But I keep stressing about this job thing. Delma's stressing too. But I think we're making this too big of a deal. She can't find a job either and she graduated with a degree in Statistics and a 3.5 GPA. I keep saying it's the economy. It's not us. But it's hard not to take it personally.

Blah.

Improv is fun though. I like doing improv.

Maybe I'll just keep doing that. Delma's going to be moving here in less than a month and then I'll be even happier. And maybe by then I'll have a job. Who knows. Let's take it one day at a time, I guess.

I hate you, high school counselor. You lied to me. You said that as long as I graduated from a good school, I'd be set for life. You're a lying son of a bitch and I hate you. This is all your fault.

It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I'm just angry.

Whatever.

I'm going to bed now.