Rudy? Seriously?

Low gray skies today... I've been crashing at my parents' house for a couple nights to try to sort out some rougher seas than normal at home.

I haven't showered or done anything blindingly productive today, and it sounds like someone's walking around their house, even though they left hours ago. I can hear creeping footsteps in the hall. It's a sleepy, fearless feeling of being gently haunted. I'm ok with it.

The past couple of weeks have been oddly harder than they probably should've. Dad's struggling with health, mom and I are fretting about it. I've been so anxious the past two months that everything feels off, the good and the bad. It feels like when you're sick and your ears become plugged-- everything takes on a muted quality, no matter how hard you yawn or strain to hear. I'm extremely anxious about the recurring thought patterns that have been plaguing me since losing my job-- where and when will I find a new one? Why did it have to happen that way? What are the ramifications of feeling that shitty at a job I really liked, for a long long time? How do I sort out the good from the bad and keep them in their respective camps?

The questions are relentless at times. I try meditation. I try exercise. I try sleep, not sleeping, and feeling dazed. I try focus and procrastination. Things are good-- great, at times-- often peaceful, and always relieved that I'm out of a bad situation. Relieved that I can reinvent myself in a meaningful way. Excited for what the future holds.

But then out of the blue, the questions and queasiness arrive in blinding waves. What does it mean that I worked my ass off to save money, and now I'm hemorrhaging my savings? Will I ever receive unemployment? Was it worth working nights and weekends even though I've just lost everything I made in those 7 months in less than 8 weeks, and I'll have to pay an additional $4-500 for taxes? I was perfect for my freelance boss-- why did they turn on me, too?

One consistent worry is the challenge of writing letter after letter to companies touting my writing skills. Writing cover letters and resumes is an excellent opportunity, I feel, because instead of simply filling in your years of experience, you can attempt to share your personal history and personality with the hiring manager. But the pressure to not write boring, trite, incorrect or revoltingly non-creative work sometimes gets to me. A lot. "I'm a great writer," my cover letters are all supposed to say, "so I think you should hire me for this fabulous writing position because look how many times I've managed to write 'writing' since the date stamp above."

Ugh. It's hard. It's harder than I'm allowing myself to feel, and in turn, I am bottling things up and it's manifesting itself in acid that leaps up my esophagus and has taken my lungs hostage. The pain is scary. It feels like there's a rubber band around my chest all day, ever day, and the absurdity and pathetic truth of that makes me even more stressed. BEING stressed makes me more stressed.

It is like a sinister villain in a novel... the voice that creeps into your head, mocking your emotions and your reactions and your natural inclinations. Not to mention the things you're holding on to as sanctuaries. "Only someone weak would perseverate in thinking about the things you're thinking about." "People you know have better, more interesting jobs than you've had. They also handle it with more going on in their lives. They also easily parallel park on city streets." "Your relationships are solid. Right? Not really, I mean, your relationships are all at risk. But feel free to argue with me."

It's a creeping, evil, sniveling little bastard of a voice. Doubt is strong when vulnerability is prominent. It's my biggest goal in my life right now-- to squash the doubt every time. I think I'm doing ok, but I'm frustrated that it's even there to contend with.

I'm just having a hard time juggling all the plates. I think I just really need a hug. And to fill my prescription for lung happiness. And some cash wouldn't hurt, if I came across a gym bag full of 100s. I am building up my confidence as much as I can, but last night as I was lying awake in my bed with a pounding heart and a chaotic frame of mind, I realized something that I was trying not to think about... losing my job in the way that I did was genuinely traumatizing to me. Hell, half of what I battled with my boss and with myself over the past several years had a legitimately traumatic effect on me.

And with trauma comes skittishness and fear. I can't make fear go away by wishing it off, no matter how much I've tried-- I think I need to find a better way to analyze the fear of inadequacy and failure I've been picking up recently. The job I just applied for almost *certainly* will not consider me as a candidate, but I'd be REALLY GOOD AT IT. I need as much confidence as I can humanly muster in order to convince someone else of that, much less myself.

It's a lot to consider. Like the day of my college graduation, I guess this is another opportunity to ball my hands into fists under my graduation gown, face the stage with courageous eyes, and tell myself-- firmly-- "Rudy would be brave. You should too."

And it gives me the same surprised and amused thought as I have now... I don't know why anything in my life would make me think about Rudy, but somehow, my most unclear and nerve-wracking transitions all make me think of Sean Astin's g-rated performance as the wee little determined football player. Maybe it just got planted in the "Little Engine that Could" part of my brain, and I'm just stuck with a little bit of a maudlin, family-appropriate movie as my cheerleader.


Well. Here's hoping they put me in the big game.