Freelancing: Setting Structure and My First Job

IT’S BEEN JUST OVER ONE MONTH since my layoff, and lest my silence lead one to think I’d joined the French Foreign Legion, here’s an update on how I’ve fared since the beginning of the year:

• I’m more determined than earlier this month to build a freelancing business. Michelle Goodman’s My So-Called Freelance Life, Marci Alboher’s Shifting Careers blog archives, and other sources have been most inspirational in deciding to give this a go. I am hopeful that I’ll be able to find the work in my areas of expertise that companies have eliminated from their full-time payrolls, but which they may suddenly realize they still need someone to do. Don’t believe me? That’s how I got my first gig:
• I was contacted by my former boss during the first full week of January to gauge my interest in updating and maintaining the magazine’s website, and preparing an email newsletter from the Web content, as I’d done while employed, for an hourly rate. Why, yes, I was. Might be a semi-steady gig: Last time they got rid of a permanent in-house person who did the Web updates, they used a freelancer for 8 months until I was hired. Even if they do hire someone out in Central City to perform my editorial tasks, they probably won't take the Web work back instantly. The top dog in my old group seems to be of the mindset that if it's getting done well without babysitting and all it costs is a check each month, let it roll. I'm happy to conform to this preference.
  
• To build my writing habit and skill, I have raised the game on my blog-posting 2007 Lenten experiment and have been writing 1,000 words or more per day. No specific focus or purpose, just as much free-writing as it takes to reach a grand each morning. If I’m to write professionally, I need to be able to reach the right words as soon as I can and hit those topic and deadline targets. Might as well establish the discipline when my days have a bit of time in them. But I’m acting to change that.
• As I’d done while full time, I’ve created work-done and work-to-do lists. Along with my blotter calendar — which I bought shortly after New Year’s because during that post-illness chunk of December, I’d lost track of days — it’s helped me maintain structure. I deliberately loaded my first to-do list with as many brainstormed ideas as I could, just to see how well I could perform these tasks on a self-directed schedule. Midweek, I received the first bit of freelance work from my last job, so quite a number of them were juked forward to this week. No matter, the ideas are still good. The main goal, and habit, I’m looking to reach here is to create measurable metrics for the effort I put into finding work. It’s the exact same principle the career counseling I’d gotten after the first layoff: Tally all of your contacts each week by mode and effectiveness to see what’s working. No more gold in a particular stream? Find a new spot to pan. (Heh — I’ve been watching Deadwood as a nightly snack after my labors are done. Great right from the first episode. Floridly profane and obscene. Awesome.)
• Less related to work, but more vital: Despite today’s ugly number (Monday after dinner with the parents and football snacking is always a bit of a retracement), I’ve continued to progress along the 30 x 40 exercise and fat-loss plan. I spent 3 days last week below 220, bottoming out at 218.5 (from 228 last birthday and 231.5 on 1/1/08) and not because of a damn fever this time. I rebuilt the muscle I’d lost while sick, and my nutrition has been strong. I need to lose about a pound a week now to keep pace (vs. .57/week when I began). However, even with no job and a snarl with the NJ unemployment people on the release of funds, I haven’t had the temptation to eat crap due to stress as I did while at the last job. And of course there’s no birthday or holiday food lying three steps away from my cube, waiting for me to succumb in a fit of frustration with the bullshit raining down. I’ve got a lot of work to do, but the rewards are evident when I can run up a flight of stairs, get out of my car without using a manual support at all, or even leap out of bed without staggering around hunched over. As with the freelance jobs and improving my writing, diligence is its own reward. (As is not repeating last March’s expedition to the fucking hospital.)
• I’m weighing the decision to create a new blog or website under my real name from which to market myself and post relevant writing on the topic. I’m competent at Blogger, but I’ve never bought a domain name, fiddled with WordPress plug-ins (I’m leaning toward that platform), and the like. There are surely guides for all of this sort of thing. If I get this rolling, I’ll let you all know where to go. Not sure if I’d continue here, but the sadness of moving from this blog to the next will be tempered into fondness should the new one succeed in helping my business and soul both grow.
• Last, I came to a conclusion last Friday, which I shared with my pal Amy, a longtime freelance editor, that despite only having one client, and not having received any unemployment relief yet, and facing a huge task of building a business from scratch during a recession, I was nonetheless happier sitting there, laboring away on my first billable hours, than I’d been back at the last company in months. There may indeed be a full-time job where I can get this same sense of satisfaction. While I have the chance, while I have a couple of safety nets and reserves in the middle of this shitty economy to get me through, I ought to take one bold shot at building something that preserves that feeling I described to Amy and makes it part of my every working day.

Layoff: Four Hours and Counting

I WAS LAID OFF two weeks ago today. Illness during Christmas week, and catching up with missed Christmas duties since then, kept me from detailing what I'd alluded to in the P.S. of my last post. There's not much to tell. About half of the people in my office got the immediate gate, and the rest will need to make a decision between one of two offices to begin using, because our office will completely close. In my specific case, I had the choice of following my job to Central City, as did the art staff back in April, or leaving that day. I chose the latter.

I'd seen folks clustering since the morning, chatting among themselves away from their desks, an unnatural silence filling the office such as I hadn't heard since after my last layoff. The management and HR pulled individuals into conference rooms or their offices for The Talk, but very little hard data was out there for the taking. Once I heard that one of the executives involved with my publication had been cut that morning, I knew we were all in play, and I made some effort to clean links and cookies off my computer. (I also drove home to get some end-of-year reimbursement forms so I could send them off to HR central before the end, if it was not long in coming. Faxing them off as folks were being told they were done gave my chore an unconsciously Mission: Impossible feel.)

In the early afternoon, I got the lecture. At least it came from the head of the division and not some ten-percenter sent in only to fire folks. I chose the departure option; no way was I following a job in a stumbling industry into the core of the Recession Belt. I reviewed some paperwork, got the standard info on COBRA and 401(k) follow-up, and the like. I'd gotten four months at the last place to wind down the department and settle ongoing projects. Here, I was getting four hours.

I spent the rest of the day in an adrenalized rush, excited and somewhat giddy. Fellow employees were reacting with shock, shuffling around their cubes in a funereal daze. Not me. As much as I knew that there was no job next morning, and that I was stepping out the door into the shittiest economic conditions in years, I felt, for the first time in months, filled with direction . . . even if it was out. This ought to tell you what I've left less than fully spoken in these posts: that I was feeling greatly unsatisfied with the job. I'd held back from blathering about things along these lines, or at least I think I have, because nobody wants to read about someone whining about something as basically self-inflicted as a bad job. (I'd tried reading Waiter Rant a week before the layoff, realized I'd basically be reading page after page of someone bitching about his gainful employment, in a city swarming with wait-staff positions, in one of the most fertile cities for business incubation in the country — a First World country, mind you — and decided the author could go fuck himself sideways.)

I filled my work bags and a couple of plastic bags with what little personal materiel I kept at my desk. You can tell the July departure of the art staff led me to refrain from personalizing the cube all that much. Midway through this, my managing editor called me to find out what was happening at my office. I explained to him I'd been told either I could follow my job out to his office or leave, that I had regretfully chosen the latter, and that I had through the end of the day to leave. My own boss had no idea I had been laid off. Never mind that the magazine was due to go to press in four days, or that we were down one person right now due to illness and would lose a second through the end of the production cycle due to her taking accumulated vacation time.

But that was their problem now. I told him I'd call my immediate supervisor the next day to let him know what he needed to know about my ongoing labors, bid him a sincere thanks for everything and a "see you later" rather than a "goodbye," and completed my packing. I tracked down the folks I wanted to remain in touch with, gave them one of my business cards, told them I was on LinkedIn and Facebook, and, my work there finally done, I left about a half hour before my usual quitting time.

I had plans to meet up with my friend Steve that night, and so he became the first person to get the scoop. I can't describe myself as being upset or scared by the reality of my situation. Indeed, when I arrived at Paramus Park Mall to meet him, I filled my lungs with the near-winter night air, and it felt just as invigorating as it had that morning. After dinner, I returned home and filled my parents in on the layoff, again, getting through the news with no emotion other than continued exhilaration.

The next morning, I sent a note around to everyone with the full scoop. (I'd already told Steve, and emailed Felix to tell Len, that my work email was kaput, so there was no reason to include my work address in the usual Friday e-nanigans that day.) At this point, it's probably easier to quote myself:

After visiting NJ Unemployment (if the state's former financial-industry employees have left me anything), I will start figuring out the next step, and whether it even ought to involve a boss or an office. Or even publishing in the traditional sense. It's best to entertain all possibilities. There are a lot of companies and people who need words written or edited but who don't work anywhere near publishing. And the industry is reacting to the recession like a scared turtle, cutting editorial and management jobs (the staff-based design ones began disappearing in the mid-00s) and even declining to buy new manuscripts or risk starting projects in 2009. Relying on a publishing house for the chance to develop and advance over a lifetime, or even a couple of years, no longer seems realistic. I may be better served by finding those who need my talents across a wider range of opportunities, or even just outside the areas of publishing where I've already done work (psychology, medicine, legal/tax/accounting, etc.), in both cases as a freelancer.

I ended this note by saying I planned to begin this quest after taking Christmas Week off. I hadn't had a significant break since June, and it had been a bloody long time, it seemed, since I'd seen Manhattan's holiday finery.

Circumstance would dictate otherwise. What began as a hacking cough over the course of the Monday before Christmas turned into a feverish night of restless nonsleep, and then two days of 102–103º fever that climaxed with my heroic dad dragging my chill-wracked ass to my doctor. My Christmas Eve miracle turned out to be getting a last-minute appointment due to a cancellation. I hated to expose Dad (or my mom, through him) to this flu-like whateverthefuck, but by Wednesday morning I could barely talk or think due to dehydration and fever. When my temperature gets that high, I stand a serious risk of passing out while walking or trying to stand. Couldn't afford to have this happen while driving. The choice was 911 or a hand from Dad.

Fortunately, I managed to down a smoothie before the appointment, and the hydration, berries, and banana helped flood my system with nutrition and water. The doc prescribed antibiotics, and ruled out pneumonia or bronchitis. The downside was that I had to skip Christmas, my first missed one since birth.

It was on Christmas that the fever made its first clear retreat, and my thoughts began to return to the job situation. I had been given, by my friends Teresa and Dan, My So-Called Freelance Life, a guide to making the jump into self-employment, which I'd added to my Amazon Wish List after seeing author Michelle Goodman's guest post on the frequently useful — and cancelled, foolishly, by the New York Times — Shifting Careers blog. Naturally, I'll be digging into that book, and Marci Alboher's blog archives, quite intently now. I still have the career-development/job hunting material from the service my last employer had provided to us after that layoff. If I'm truly going to build a freelance career, now's the time to begin researching the ups and downs.

And that, for now, is basically it. More news here on the next step as I develop a sense of what it might be. Very exciting.

Approaching Ludicrous Speed

WHILE EMAILING THE FORMER CLINICAL editor at my shop — who still hasn't been replaced, nor do the auspices whisper of such an event being imminent — I commented that my to-do list ahead of my boss's departure is as thick as a Tolstoy novel and just as tragic. I actually had to attach three Post-Its to the bottom and a fourth hanging off the side to accommodate more items. The damn thing only needs a couple of wax seals to resemble a medieval charter.

I also have a whole separate list on which I've been toting up items, functions, and duties my boss performs, for which I need instructions prior to her departure. It, too, is quickly darkening with reminders and notes.

Our rump staff has a meeting with the managing editor tomorrow at 9 sharp to detail the next steps. By this time next week, there will only be two of us in our New Jersey office, doing the work that six used to do (an ed ass't was laid off a year ago, and the editor who specialized in Web work moved to another department before my arrival; I now do her work). Most of the shrinkage is directly attributable to a couple of bad decisions and the resultant culture and leadership clash.

I like the work I'm doing, but I have no idea how I'll sustain that sort of quality or output during this pinch. The idea of wedging further skill acquisition into this sort of schedule is laughable, which removes another one of the attractions I had for this place.

It was the next job after the salt mine. It wasn't necessarily going to be my last job. It's just a shame that things had to turn south so quickly. But my first duty is to myself. And I am not going to knock my brains out fixing a problem I didn't cause by staying late or working weekends. No amount of money is worth that, though I've been tempted to ask for a raise just while they're over the barrel. If I'm just going to use the money on antianxiety drugs, what's the point of asking for more cash before my next review?

Hell, will I even be there by my next review? I can only imagine my remaining fellow editor is looking too. She has a huge commute on top of dealing with the absurd management style and the sudden decline of interest in taking the time to do good, well-researched work. Do I want to hang around while they figure out how to reconstruct the department, which might involve me training someone? I haven't been there long enough to train someone, and anyway, I hate being a supervisor.

Ah, they might just kill the publication anyway. This too would be a shame, though it's just what I've come to expect from the nut-cutters who scry corporate balance sheets, Scrooge-like, by guttering gaslight atop their miser's stools. The publication has a long history and considerable goodwill. But we are in a recession. Might be cheaper to kill it and lay the remaining staff off. The actual mechanism of being laid off I can handle. Job hunting in this environment, however, might prove a challenge.

With that in mind, I will work hard during my stay at the current place, keep my eyes open and my interests squarely on my ass, try to get as much training and as many bylines as I can, and review my job-hunt books from the career counseling I received last year. Oh, and (as per preexisting plan) get my resume updated. Resignation or layoff, I want to be ready, as I honestly can't see many other ways out of this.

First "Week" of Work and Postgame Wrapup

I'VE JUST COMPLETED THE first week in which I worked at the new job. To say "my first week of work" wouldn't be accurate, because I skipped Monday for my Photoshop class, only worked half of Tuesday, was off for the Fourth on Wednesday, and filled out forms over the course of half of Thursday. Still, by the end of Friday — during which I was mostly left alone, as the office was depopulated — I was actually rewriting an article for the magazine on which I'll be exerting my labors. Though I will be absent next Monday for my Photoshop class, the entire office ought to be back from vacation, and I will slide into the regular work cycle for true.

Let's backtrack a bit, to let those few kind folks who've bookmarked this blog in on events since I added my exultant, if brief, "I AM EMPLOYED!!!" entry and my catch-up entry in which I described my first interview, which evidently I aced.

I got a call between four and five in the afternoon on June 21 from the HR manager. I'd been told to expect some sort of communication soon, so I'd been hovering by the phone while distractedly hunting for the next position. By this point in the afternoon, I figured I wouldn't hear anything, but when my cellphone rang I nearly snapped an ankle racing across the room to grab it.

The HR person led by saying, "I think this is the call you've been waiting for." I tensed in anticipation, still retaining enough wits to imagine that same quote coming, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas–style, from a uniformed dwarf with a telephone on a tray. She extended the job offer, gave my potential starting salary, and proposed a starting date. I pointed out that I was taking classes on Mondays in the city, so we revised it slightly to July 3. In effect, I was getting about a week and a half of freedom, including my birthday, before heading back into the job market.

When I requested an offer letter, she said she would email one, thus sparing me a call to my parents to get the fax machine hooked up. The salary came in above the range I had stated in my cover letter, and very close to what I was making at the previous job. Between getting 90 to 100 minutes back per day with the considerably shorter commute (15 minutes by car), not paying for monthly train tickets (which recently got hiked by 10% in price), and having more freedom to return home when I need to, it's more like a raise. As my friend Matt has said, he can always make more money, but he can't make more time.

Naturally, I began calling and emailing folks to let them know my job hunt was over, beginning with my parents. I had just seen a bunch of folks from my first job at the fantastic wedding of Amy and Ratatosk the previous Saturday, and now I was able to tell some of them, including the bride and groom, that the job I had hoped to get was in fact mine. I'd hedged when describing my chances, saying that I was considering myself still in search mode until I got an offer letter. With said letter siting in my inbox, I could now contact them to tell them their good wishes and hopes had paid off.

I had schoolwork to do that weekend, which, sadly, was of heartbreaking beauty and cool, breezy weather. I did sneak out now and again to enjoy it, but Photoshop was my prime concern through Sunday night. Monday was class, but once I split out of SVA, I began a week-and-change of pure sloth. Tuesday saw an extended binge in Atlantic City, where I managed to win at both casinos I visited. I finally sat for a session at the renovated and expanded Borgata poker room. I eked out a small win there, then booked a substantial win after dinner at the House of Blues poker room at Showboat. This began a streak of poker victory in the home games that has not yet ended.

I spent my birthday last Wednesday lounging about, then relaxed for the remainder of the week. Saturday saw a double-shot of good Samaritanism: I helped Matt move out of his apartment, then, later that evening, drove out to Totowa to rescue Felix and his fiancée from a dead car battery. I wasn't able to jump it, but I did help by transporting them as needed for the cables and to the dealership, for which Felix was kind enough to spot me dinner at a diner next door.

I didn't do anything for the actual job until Monday, when (with class suspended for the July 4 holiday) I placed a call to the office to get a sense of the dress code. This turned out to be the nebulous catch-all of "business casual," for which I was already well supplied. I gave up on button-down shirts and slacks in January, when I decided not to burn dry-cleaning money on a job that was ending anyway. So I had a whole rack of ready rags. Still, I picked up some new slacks with a coupon that fortuitously had arrived from Mens Wearhouse the previous week.

I thought frequently about my three months of unemployment during this final week of "freedom." I didn't really begin searching with dedication until the beginning of May, after my complimentary month with the career-counseling firm. The timing of the job offer couldn't have been better, as it came just before I received my final severance check, and at the three-month point of my unemployment benefits, under the terms of which I would have to begin applying for any job, not just those in my field, to remain eligible.

Getting right into the career counseling was the smartest thing I could have done. Despite occasional twinges that I should have taken one hedonistic week for myself before plunging in, I felt at the time that I ought to begin learning the skills needed to shorten the job hunt as early as possible. I didn't know how often I would have to attend classes, or whether I'd have to travel into the city for them. As it turned out, the office was 15 minutes away (coincidentially, right next to the office where my new job is located), so I wouldn't need to devote 2 hours per day just to get to and from the seminars. But I knew I would need a comprehensive, well-written resume as soon as I could craft it. The solution? Dive right into the coursework.

This proved wise. By the beginning of May, my resume, interview skills, and ability to pitch myself were all much stronger. Even with this head of steam, I still found working on my own, with no supervision, difficult at first. On average, there was at least one day per week on which I simply didn't achieve anything productive. I also had two weeks in which I was considerably less motivated to continue the hunt. I tracked my time in Excel, noting letters sent, networking calls made, and the like, as per the career center training, and those two weeks stand out shamefully. Still, one of the last classes I took offered the wisdom that occasionally, we would need some time away from the hunt — maybe a morning, perhaps even a day or more — to refocus and pursue our broader interests. I felt it was a little early in the hunt for me to take a break, but I rode it out, kept searching, and made an effort to keep reviewing my course materials. I am fairly certain, though, that freelance work at home would carry the same risk as the job hunt did, that of falling into the time-sink that is the Internet to detrimental extent over the day.

I directly contacted fewer hiring managers than the course recommends. (Briefly, the key to their strategy is to call or meet with hiring managers before they have a job ready for you, via regular networking, so you are at the front of their mind when they do need someone.) Networking is not a deeply ingrained habit of mine, though I knew I would have to develop it swiftly to shorten the job hunt. As it happens, I found my current job online, which the coursework advises has a considerably smaller success rate than is popularly believed, so job seekers should assign it correspondingly less effort in favor of networking and direct manager contact.

Despite moments of ebbing motivation, I kept a positive attitude through the entire process. By the time I left the old job, I was emotionally reconciled to departing, so I felt neither regret nor rancor upon departing. I tried not to speak of it negatively with friends and potential new network candidates. You never know who might have the chance to pass your information along to a hiring manager, and you don't want them to say that all you do is bitch about your former bosses and coworkers. At any rate, I did learn a lot from my previous job, and I left my managers and work friends on fine terms, so I had several skills and potential references on deck for the new job.

The best thing I can do now is to begin building a network at my new job. Rands in Repose offers a guide for the first 90 days at a job, and a few of them relate directly to forming, or becoming part of, a network. I've already spent some time at the new place looking through my predecessor's Rolodex, and wishing she had left notes on what each contact's importance will to the tasks at hand. I hope to have just such a matrix of names and functions up and running by the end of my first 90 days (October 1), both to help me fulfill my job tasks and to help speak for me, or even employ me, when the time comes to look for another job.

Statistically that is inevitable. This is my third postcollegiate job. These days, members of my generation are told to expect several changes in employment. With my average length of employment at around 7 years, I can expect to begin sniffing out the next position around the age of 45, in 2014. And there's no guarantee that said search will begin voluntarily. The last one didn't! The time to develop a flexible and living network of colleagues is now. No honeymoon; just enact the lessons I learned in April and begin learning names and calling numbers. I may not be quite as single, healthy, or flush with emergency-fund cash by then. Anything I can do now to shorten the next job hunt will be literal money in the bank.

Cash-wise, I fared well during my time out of work. I cut spending to the bone long before the last day at the salt mine. I had already deferred my usual summer trip to Las Vegas, so I didn't have any major travel expenses popping up on my credit cards. I did a little freelance work during April for M. to earn some small coin while taking the career-counseling classes. I cut my weekly poker night back to every other week until I had a sense that I wasn't risking serious financial damage by playing on the usual schedule (and at any rate, I went on something of a tear as spring ended and summer began, which never hurts). I redid my cell contract to get more minutes, for the potentially larger number of prime-time calls I would make to the city and to avoid overage charges. I was prepared for a long siege, if necessary, the only unavoidable expenses being the brutal power bills I would face if I had to run the air conditioner all day during July or August. Thankfully, this will not be an issue.

My primary duties at the new job will be editing, writing, and trafficking. Whither design? Although I will be doing copyfitting and layout of minor items in Quark and eventually InDesign, I will be no more of a graphic designer there as I was at the last job. I took the Photoshop course to improve my skill set for what I imagined, around Memorial Day, would be a long job hunt. Now that I am working, and don't have all day to conceive and craft the projects — and in fact may not even need Photoshop at the new place — my urge to complete the course is waning. I have a project due on July 16 that I need to get a move on. Though I have learned a lot, the final project, due on the last day of class (July 30), finds me at an utter loss for ideas. Would it be an expression of surrender if I were to bail on the final project and take the considerable boost in knowledge I've gotten out of the classes thus far . . . or mere pragmatism?

I do want to retain this Photoshop knowledge, in case this job somehow falls through. But I know now, after seeing the sort of work my classmates have been doing (and the even more stunning work that recent Pratt grads displayed at a show I attended in May), that I will never have the creative spark in a visual arena to be a true graphic designer or artist. At most I'll only be a technician, a person with slightly above-average skill with the individual tools, which may be enough for a lot of the employers I will ever have. If I refocus my talents on the editing and writing that the new job will require, should I accept reality and push in the direction where my deepest talents lie?

I am reminded of my musings my musings on a new direction and the results of my career exercise, as well as my success at the Lent writing devotion. While working on my first article at the new place, I could feel myself rising to the challenge, integrating the material I had gleaned from my phone interview with the existing copy, crafting an intro and a coherent flow, and it was right, even though the final product may be revised by my boss, or cut back by 90%, I was actually writing for an employer.

This question can be settled in the coming days. The biggest question looming over my life, and one of the most important goals I set for myself at the beginning of 2007, has been resolved. I could not be more pleased and relieved.

I AM EMPLOYED!!!

JUST GOT AN OFFER. It's the job I've been discussing these past few posts. Official letter to follow via email tonight. I intend to accept. Must step out for victory Friendly's now.

As a certain financial talking head might put it, "BOOO-YAAAH!"

SNAFU Sidetracks Employment-Agency Date

VEXING DIRECTIONAL SCREWUP TODAY led to my missing out on a chance to speak with a recruiting agency, and wasted 2 hours of my life between donning and shedding my monkey suit. By way of reviewing the past few days and getting this agitation out of my system, let me write a spell.

To back up a few paces, I have not gotten an answer from the place I interviewed 2 weeks ago. I did complete an editorial test for them last Friday, but by Wednesday I hadn't received acknowledgment of its quality or even its receipt. I therefore called them to check. (I should note here that this is not the reason I'm agitated.) I spoke to the woman with whom I had the in-person interview (vs. the managing editor of the publications, who was on a speakerphone during the interview). She said they had indeed received the test, and that it looked good. As to an answer on employment, she said that the managing editor and human resources were working on it, but that she had a positive feeling about my prospects. Obviously, she couldn't commit in any more explicit way, especially if HR was performing a background check, suddenly uncovered something (speculatively, of course), and then had to contend with the other person having jumped the gun. She said I ought to receive some sort of answer in the next couple of days. So I hope to hear from them today or tomorrow.

This would be very nice, as I'm hitting another ebb tide of motivation. I did go to the library yesterday to do some job-hunting work, because my Internet service was down briefly (how soon we feel the absence of the cable when it's yanked from the vein). I found the change of scenery most invigorating. Being stuck here during the greater part of the day with no absolute duties was a crusher during parts of May. I can think of one week, after Jen and Steve's wedding, that was an utter bust in terms of motivation. With the start of June and my Photoshop class, I at least had another productive function to perform here. The second week of June, however, was another stretch where I got a lot less done on the job horizon than I would have liked. The final seminar I had with the career-counseling firm warned of such hills and valleys, but still, I need to keep getting my message out there if I want to find the right position and demonstrate amid such activity to NY State Unemployment that I am actively trying to find work.

So about today. I had an appointment to speak with a representative with the creative-talent arm of a major recruiting and temporary-work firm. I had posted my information on their website back in March before departing the salt mine. I called over to set up an appointment with the guy who had been working with my then-supervisor M., only to find he had left the company abruptly. (This was a surprise to M., who had been working with this gent even before we left the company.) The receptionist told me that once my online application was reviewed, I would get a call, which finally came last week.

The woman who called me asked me to come in today, after I completed one or two more tasks (send a resume, references, any samples). I took the opportunity to take my buddy Len up on a favor he had offered at Jen and Steve's wedding. He works for another branch of the employment company that owns this one, and he generously offered to call any contact I made there and give him or her the good word on my reliability as a potential employee. I dropped Len a note with this person's name, along with my huge thanks and a couple of questions about temping and unemployment.

This question had led me to forego contacting temp agencies prior to this point. As a designer-type person, my skill at Photoshop is low. (Thus, the class.) Many of the jobs I've checked out online list Photoshop as a skill. Although any work therein may be limited in scope, more along the lines of altering existing graphics rather than de novo creation all day and (oy) night, I still needed to demonstrate a basic knowledge of the software. Some employment agencies and hiring managers administer testing to ensure the candidate's level of expertise. The agency I was working with in this case wanted me to take a test once I came into the office, so they could honestly inform their clients just how skilled the temps were.

My question: If my lack of Photoshop knowledge was possibly gonna keep me on the sidelines waiting for work, and if I became an employee of the temp agency to become eligible for these placements, would I then have to inform NY State that I was, from their standpoint, employed? If my prospects for frequent temp work with the employment agency were slim due to my qualifications, was I in danger of giving up a base level of income just to be put on the shelf for a while?

This was the primary question I wanted to discuss today. If I was only going to get paid occasionally, but would otherwise still receive healthcare, that might make the deal more equitable. (Staring at a COBRA bill next to my computer inspired that last sentence.) Len wasn't as up on how New York handles this question, so he couldn't offer as definitive an opinion as someone in our area might be able to. So when I arose this morning, I looked forward to at least exploring the temp question, while making it clear that my primary goal was permanent full-time employment.

The only problem was that I stupidly left the directions at home. If you've never been to central Bergen County, the office building management company Mack-Cali owns several complexes in and around the shopping nexus of Paramus. Four of them surround Paramus Park Mall. Without the sheet in hand, however, I couldn't be sure which one I had to go to. I was leaving early enough to drive from one to the other if I needed to.

There are six Mack-Cali Centers in Paramus, four of which were at my destination. I had a 2 in 3 chance of finding the proper building in that area. I lost that bet. After checking two of the building directories, I called the office to get an update from my contact. One of her coworkers indicated that the office was in fact near Route 4, rather than on the eastern side of Route 17, which is where these four were located. I asked him to convey my apologies for the delay to my contact — to which he said it was no problem — got back in my car, and headed in the direction of this other office building.

I never found it. The landmarks this guy gave me over the phone were not to be seen. By this point I was pissed at myself for fucking up with the directions, and I realized I was going to need more time to at least stop at a Barnes & Noble and check out a map for a better idea of where the hell they were. I called again, but was told everyone was in a company-wide meeting. This struck me as odd. I had been told the discussion and testing could take as long as 2 hours. Assuming I got there at 9:00 as planned, I'd at least spend 15 minutes or so getting the opening discussion with my contact or one of her colleagues underway. Now suddenly they're all in a meeting?

I am attuned to the quiet messages the universe often issues. In this case, I was becoming convinced that this meeting was not to occur today. Even if I did somehow get better directions to the place, by the time I got there I still would be wound up from the whole process. So I called the office one more time, and told my contact via her voicemail that we would have to reschedule for early next week. By then, I hoped I would know one way or the other my situation with the publishing company where I'd interviewed.

I am sincerely interested in at least hearing what they would say about my unemployment question, so I am hoping to hear from them again soon. I'll call them again later today or first thing tomorrow to see if next Tuesday is good. For now, though, I will concentrate on my Photoshop work, which is ongoing. New assignments every week. Just the thing to ingrain new reflexes.

I can report that the Happy Massager went over well. The instructor commented favorably on the wood-grain detail and the highlights, saying that these were the aspects that distinguished this model from being a two-dimensional sketch. Last class, which came on a day of such heartbreaking beauty it was tough to board the bus for NYC instead of for Atlantic City, we got acquainted with the scanner, in preparation for a collage/portrait that is to express something about ourselves. The instructor had asked us to bring in items from our environment ("found" items, vs. photos or computer-generated images) to integrate into a collage or other arrangement that would demonstrate our skills up through that class.

I brought a ton of poker-related gear: cards, chips, a couple of books, and some index cards on which I'd typed some of my more useful pieces of acquired wisdom over the years. I scanned many of these in class, but I realized I probably would want to modify these further later in the week. With no plans to return to Chelsea before next class, I acted on an impulse that had been floating around for some time and bought a scanner. I'm glad this class has no apparent need for a camera, else I might be out snagging a digital model next week or something.

Where the Hell I've Been

BIT OF A GAP there, the longest in recent memory, if memory is worth a damn. I've been busy. Here's a rundown of what's been up with me.

Interview: I was lucky enough to have an interview two Thursdays ago. It's a specialty magazine publishing company that also runs trade shows for consumers and professionals in the magazine readerships' areas of interest. I snagged their ad online and dropped a note to them, and to my great surprise, I got a call back within an hour or so. The location is about 15 minutes away from my house — in fact, it's next door to the career-counseling office I visited through April.

The ad matched several of my skill sets, so I had a good feeling going into the interview. Two people, one live, one over speakerphone, conducted the company side of the discussion. I have to say, the career counseling was of inestimable value for this interview. Although I went into the place somewhat nervous, I felt relaxed by the time I began answering the first query. I was able to answer every question directly, most of them with a story that depicted how I solved a similar problem at a previous job. At one point, they listed the various roles a person in the position would have to fulfill; I jotted them down as one of the interviewers spoke, then, saying, "I can address several of these areas," gave them parts of my work history where I was able to succeed in those realms. At no point was I fumfering for an answer; moreover, they never expressed any displeasure or sarcasm at any of my responses. No trick questions; no lectures or anything demeaning; just a relaxed discussion about an opening that we all hoped I might be able to fill.

Once we wrapped up the three-way chat, I took a brief layout test in Quark. It seemed deceptively easy, but after triple-checking for bad breaks, widows/orphans, and overflow text, I let my contact know it was all set. Frankly, it felt good to do some layout again.

I exited that day with a strong feeling that, whatever happened, I got this one right. This was my first interview out of the training, and I felt like I represented myself well. I took myself to Outback that night as a reward for passing this first test.

Bachelor dinner with Ratatosk: My esteemed fellow blogger and excellent friend, having found himself a fantastic woman whom he shall have the privilege of marrying tomorrow, received his official sendoff from the menfolk the Saturday following my interview. His brother, brother-in-law, three of the gaming gang, and I gathered at Kiku, the Japanese hibachi/sushi joint on Route 17, to stuff him fulla stir-fry.

I enjoy these places, especially when we have a chef who's into the act, and in this case we did. He kept us laughing with corny jokes, added a dash of trivia questions (most of which I buzzed in correctly on), and of course, executed the Dance of the Flaming Onion Volcano. The food was quite tasty, and didn't seem like a heavy load, even though we had soup, salad, rice, shrimp, and a protein along with veggies.

As for the afterparty . . . well, the soon-to-be Mrs. Ratatosk reads these pages, so I must be circumspect as regards the Guy Code on the off chance she wasn't briefed on our second and final destination. Rest assured, she will receive tomorrow a man as pure as the one she sent out that evening for a hootenanny with his friends. How pure that was to begin with is anybody's guess, but we didn't get him into any trouble aside from some errant wing sauce and cholesterol.

NYC Daily Double: Monday and Tuesday felt like workdays, in that I went into New York on both. Monday was my usual Photoshop class at SVA, for which I needed to bring an object. I thought this was to be scanned and manipulated in the software, but it turned out we were actually going to draw it using various shading, gradation, and manipulation tools to familiarize ourselves with the most common implements of the trade. I had brought a $5 Bellagio chip, a royal flush in hearts, and a Krusty figure (she had said to bring something with a little dimensionality, which — aside from his act — suits Krusty all over). We will indeed do some scanning for next week, but this time around, we just needed to draw. She emphasized that we didn't need to duplicate the objects perfectly, but when I saw some of the samples from other classes, clearly drawn by students with underlying artistic talent, my heart sagged a little.

Still, I was there to learn, so during the 90 minutes we had in class to get cracking, I did my best to draw this schmaltzy clown. The challenge of using the tools for the first time in any useful fashion, combined with the irregular curves of this irregular Simpsons character, began to get me down, and when I left, I was wondering if I would ever get past this phase of the class to the areas of Photoshop I felt most would be needed to answer ads that called for proficiency in the software. This, combined with an extended wait for the bus (I need to take the train on the way out in the future for this class), left my mood fairly low by the time I returned home.

A good session at the gym the next day, combined with an additional communiqué from the place where I had interviewed (see next heading), picked up my spirits Tuesday morning. Also adding promise to the day was a trip I had planned to attend the InDesign Users Group in Manhattan that evening. At least one of my former teammates from the salt mine was scheduled to be there. She had attended previous meetings of this group and had good things to say about the presenters. With no job at the moment, I had committed to attend, and that afternoon found me back on the bus to Midtown.

This presentation connected with the company where I had interviewed in two ways. First, they were beginning to move into using InDesign, and as someone who had assisted with such a transition at my previous job, I had experience in making the jump from Quark. Also, they were investigating the possible role of using XML to repurpose text. This was something I had narrowly missed learning at the last job, and by coincidence, an XML specialist was scheduled to speak at the users group meeting. I still feel like I would need some intensive, one-on-one training in exploiting XML's potential before calling myself qualified to get someone up and running on it, but the demo taught me a few things, and there is apparently a downloadable guide to be had on the users group site.

Interview Part Deux: While I was in the city on Monday, I got a call from the coworker who I met at the IDUG meeting, as well as from M, my former supervisor. Both told me that they had gotten calls from the company where I had interviewed as part of a reference check. I was pleased to hear that they both had praised me to the rafters. The reference check gave me some hope that I had a fairly decent shot at getting the job. Had they not liked me in the interview, they wouldn't have bothered.

Tuesday morning's email brought a note from one of the two folks who emailed me with a proposition. Based on my experience in editing along with layout, would I be interested in taking an editing test to gauge my abilities as a developmental editor? They had an article that needed some direct editing on the beginning and end, but that also needed an outline of guidance for the author on how to ready it for the audience and tone of the magazine. Although this isn't something I've done formally, I have made recommendations to folks (e.g., M with her thesis project) on how to address text for a certain audience or purpose, in a couple of cases to the point of rewriting the text. I had the option to decline and be assessed for the position I had discussed the previous week. But now they were asking me if I'd want to recast the focus of that position, in essence soliciting my opinion on what I might be able to do there. Figuring that saying "no" to such an opportunity was worse than just letting them judge me on what we had already rapped about, I said by all means send it along. I had until Friday/Monday (their words) to return it.

This was the second challenge I would receive this week. The instructions asked the candidate to edit for a more colloquial, less academic tone; to recommend additions or cuts; and to prepare a guide for how, if at all, the article should be revised. I'd only have to copyedit the beginning and end (good thing, too, as the article was fairly dry and technical in the middle and I lack the medical-writing experience to tell them if any of the facts were wrong). I concentrated first on the copyediting, letting the ideas I had for any major reworking simmer. I was at a loss on Wednesday morning, until a solution came to me that night, and I spent Thursday jotting notes and shifting text to enact this plan. By Friday morning, after spell- and grammar-checking the shit out of it, I sent my revisions and outline along. I very delicately said that if I still needed work in this field, I was more than happy to be considered for the original position and to work with them in developing this skill in case I was needed later on to help with this aspect of the job. Again, I didn't want to let any sense of negativity creep in. I wanted all doors to be open, preferably the one to HR in which I signed my "welcome aboard" forms.

I haven't heard back from them yet, though I believe they do flexible time and I might have gotten it to them at the end of their "day." I remain hopeful, and the search continues. I am trying not to stake too much hope on this, not from any sort of self-deprecation or anything — I know I did swimmingly in the interview — but because I know it will be more than a stunning blow if for whatever crazy reason, they decide not to go with me. I don't know if it's because of the proximity of the workplace, or the close match to the job description my skills represent, or what. I am just trying to get any potential disappointment framed properly in case it gets triggered.

So that is where things stand. I watched Ratatosk and Amy rehearse their wedding this evening, and they were kind enough to bring fruit, sandwiches, and cookies to the church so we could chat, eat, and help put them both at ease for the Big Day. I will be reading at the ceremony (Shakespeare's Sonnet 116), so I've got a role to play in making the day a memorable one. After this, I will spend Sunday assembling the materials for the next Photoshop project.

Oh, I did manage, over the course of this week, to find a new, more geometrically regular subject for the drawing project. Once I got the biggest part done, I felt more comfortable with the tools we had been shown, which was the whole point of the exercise anyway. The rest flowed quite easily. Herewith, my rendering of the Happy Massager, or as my friends call it, the Molecule:

First Return Whisper From the Job Market

I AM SCHEDULED TO interview next Thursday at a local magazine publisher/trade show company. Oddly enough, the office is within walking distance of the career counseling outfit I used. This is only a 15-minute drive via back roads.

I found this position online, rather than via direct contact with hiring managers as per my program guidelines. The career counselors state that online ads yield far fewer jobs than networking directly with hiring managers or those close to them. Still, they do advise using a blend of tactics, as long as the time invested in each method corresponds to the odds it will work. Pure percentages. This poker degenerate can appreciate that. So I do look at online ads during the week, but not all day.

I got a call back early Wednesday afternoon, which gave me some hope as I had sent the note and resume first thing that morning to a contact with a West Coast area code. The screener interview went well. The woman who called told me straight out that they wanted to have me in, then asked me some screener questions (she actually used this term). I would have imagined the opposite sequence of events, so I relaxed, feeling I had a bit of an advantage.

The only point where I felt I had to do a quick save was on the topic of the subject matter. She asked me if I had any experience working with medical material. I replied that I have extensive scientific-journal layout experience, as well as several years' worth of psychology copyediting under my belt, and that I used American Medical Association style for some of it. I covered many of the desired proficiencies in the ad via my cover letter, though, so I suspect — as per India Amos's friend in the comment to this post — my experience and flexibility will make for a short learning curve.

The search continues, though. I got a good letter out to Dow Jones for a desktop publishing position that was another close match to my resume. This gig would be at Harborside Financial Center in Jersey City, so my commuting time would still be fairly long and a two-step process. There is also the slight possibility that, if hired, I might eventually become an employee of billionaire tyrant Rupert Murdoch. Are stellar benefits worth working for the Devil? I might just have an opportunity to find out. For now, though, I am looking forward to this first interview.

My (Almost) Life as a Pornographer

IN HUNTING FOR A new job this spring and summer (though, I hope, not this fall), I have thought about the two previous job hunts of mine. The most recent was in the spring of 1999, beginning in about March and ending in early May. I recall riding to the interview and seeing the headlines about the Columbine shooting on everyone's newspapers.

It was my first job hunt, the one most folks face right after college, that crossed my mind today. This one was an extended, half-hearted affair beginning in June 1991 . . . the Great Bush (40) Recession . . . and was made longer when I sought refuge in a part-time job at a healthcare marketing-research firm. Phone interviews with medical professionals, combined with clerical work and eating the leftovers from focus groups, formed half of each weekday from that July through mid-September 1992. Between the scarcity of local publishing jobs, my deficient internship experience, and a general lack of interest in my future, my actual job-seeking activity was sporadic at best.

Before I took this stopgap job, however, I did get a callback for an interview from one of my resume mailings to the publishing field . . . or at least, one niche of it. I forget the precise name of the position as it appeared in The New York Times, but the first sentence will never leave my memory — "Hot opportunity on a hot title" — because the job was with High Society magazine.

Those of you who were never teenage boys, or single, middle-age guys who haunted 42nd Street before it was Disneyfied, may not be familiar with this rag. Go about one and a half steps downward from the porn level of Playboy — none of the occasional investigative reporting and Quagmire-level class of Penthouse, but none of the truly disgusting layouts and abhorrent attitudes toward women rampant in the various Larry Flynt titles. Not that women were all that positively depicted in any of these magazines, but at least Playboy would run an interview with Tom Wolfe or an excerpt of his work, and a review of the newest BMW coupe, alongside some airbrushed bim. High Society by contrast might carry a pseudonymously penned pulp story, and maybe some lurid exposé of a Third World death squad or a gory shark hunt, but the pictorials lacked all pretension of art.

Still, all magazines need to be both written and produced by someone, and High Society needed a writer and editor. As a lark, I sent them the laughable document with my name on it that fit the description of resume. If they had the gumption to advertise in the Times, why not give it a spin?

To my surprise, I got a call a week or so later from a guy with a heavy New Yawk accent to set up an interview! It seemed I would be editing the letters column of the magazine, in addition to office work and possibly layout, depending on qualifications. I wondered, as he described the job, how much of that would merely be writing said letters from whole cloth. I envisioned myself at a wheezing Selectric, light filtering feebly through a window layered with Eisenhower-era grime, in some sinus of an office in the Thirties, clacking out page after page of "I never thought I would be writing High Society . . ." mini-essays about forbidden lusts run amok. I told him I would come in for the interview. Why not? This job had high comedy written all over it.

The question of telling my parents opened up the first sliver of doubt over this job. This was a far cry from the usual postcollegiate English major jobs of proofreader, editorial assistant, or manuscript reader in the bowels of some obscure press or magazine . . . and certainly was not the gateway to graduate studies in my field should I decide to continue my schooling. The workplace itself was also a dubious factor. I imagined stumbling into "fashion" shoots in the office, rubbing elbows (and probably little else) with porn stars pushing their latest projects, and cologne-reeking sleaze merchants oozing out like balding Weebles at eleven for a steak and cocaine binge at Delmonico's. Not the best mentor for a sprout seeking a fast track in publishing.

I also wondered what sort of samples I would acquire to show future employers. It's one thing for me to pass a copy of the accounting newsletter across a desk to show a prospective employer how much table typesetting I can cram into 8 hours. It's quite another for me to read to a group of hiring managers a sampler of my finest letters to the editor, or worse, to fan out a grotesquely splayed — if meticulously color-corrected and retouched — centerfold.

And I had a genuine concern over the exact source of my paychecks. What sort of an organization was "Drake Publishing," the parent corporation that produced High Society, Playgirl, and other skin books? Who owned it? I assumed that Drake, like most pornography companies in New York, both legit and clandestine, was at least partly Mob affiliated. This hunch would prove correct; years later, the then-current cugines behind the scenes would plead guilty to using phone-sex numbers in High Society to rack up hundreds of millions in credit card and phone charges. At the time, however, I imagined the Boys would be using this legitimate business as a shell for some manner of dirty dealings, and I didn't want to end up running numbers or taking football bets while grinding out my torrid narratives of two nymphets getting locked overnight in a pudding factory, or whatnot.

With all this to ponder, and the offer to work at the marketing-research firm also on the table, I called the High Society guy back and canceled our interview appointment. He sounded genuinely surprised and asked me to reconsider, but I offered my regrets and stood firm. I was working on a phone survey with pain-management professionals for the Duragesic patch not two days later.

I don't have any regrets about passing on the opportunity to become a 21-year-old pornographer, though I do sometimes regret not at least going on the interview, just to see how the degenerate half lives. I still managed to find my way into publishing, by the more honest route of an independent producer of psychology, social science, and human factors books and journals. I got to strip down art with white tape instead of placing black bars across incriminating eyes and erogenous zones. The only reason to have taken this route, I feel, would be to have the most potentially riveting tale to tell at my high school reunion . . . or its career fair. Especially because I attended an all-male Catholic school.

Now there? There, my samples would have been most welcome.

WSJ Article on Getting Jobs Without a 100% Skill Match

TODAY'S WALL STREET JOURNAL carried an article, "How to Land That Dream Job When You Lack Certain Skills" by Sarah E. Needleman, which reinforced a sentiment I've heard elsewhere in this job hunt. The nut:

If you're passionate about a certain industry but lack the skills commonly associated with its most visible leaders, you can try to pursue a career working on the sidelines. Being behind the scenes may offer more than just the opportunity to score freebies and gain exposure to your dream industry's superstars. The career choice may also help you enjoy what you do for a living as well as pay your bills.

In discussions with M, my friend and former supervisor, she said that my lack of full facility with design software doesn't disqualify me from careers in publishing that have tracks upward from where I left. Our bosses, for instance, had little to no modern experience with any of the software, hardware, or production methods we used to create our work. As a veteran of these particular trenches, I have an informed opinion on these areas, and I can make managerial decisions affecting them without stepping on scores of toes or wrecking a budget. I was also given sound advice along M's lines by the always awesome India Amos.

I found echoes of the career-consulting program in the article as well. "Think broadly about the types of employers to target," advises Needleman. Early in the program, job seekers are encouraged to do just that, including employers in industries outside the candidates' resume experience. I recall an example given in one of the program texts, in which a job seeker wants to break into the entertainment business, but — lacking the experience needed to do it as talent — does so by joining a business that serves the industry, thereby gaining contact with potential mentors and employers while remaining close to her passion. On this topic, Needleman also cites joining organizations in one's field to build a network, a linchpin of the counseling service's method.

I am mulling my next steps in the job hunt as well as in skill acquisition. The School of Visual Arts runs summer programs for continuing education (including one-weekend concentrated courses) in various software packages, including Illustrator and Photoshop. I took a combo course in both back in 2001, but based on the number of ads that cite both as primary skills, I feel I'd need a full-frontal immersion in just one of them to get in tune with the basics needed by most of these employers.

This article, and the discussions I've had with M, have me wondering whether this is a strictly necessary prerequisite. If I do some digging and make active contacts with hiring managers, maybe I can get into the head of one who might need me as I am . . . or as I soon will be. I have skills along the editing and writing axes as well, which makes me a potentially useful combination plate. (These are the images I use when I blog around dinnertime.)

If nothing else, I will be careful to avoid making the same mistake one person alluded to in the article made at McFarlane Toys. Apparently this dork showed up with a sheaf of comics for the boss to sign. As their HR director put it, "He didn't last very long."

One Month After the Layoff

IT'S BEEN A BUSY few days. This week will see the end of my free month with the career-counseling company whose services I received as part of my layoff. I had the pleasure of joining a friend of mine and his cohorts in Atlantic City for a bachelor party. In addition, over the past week, I've been assisting my friend and former supervisor, M., by proofreading pages of her graduate thesis.

This past month flew by. I am glad I dived right into the career-development process. I was delayed early by the understandable need to assist my parents when Dad had to visit the hospital. And I also had two days where my motivation was considerably subpar. Seeing as my motivation to get up in the morning during my final weeks of work was usually subpar, this is an improvement. My spirits seemed to sag around the times when I speculated the most about needing to change careers. I am still thinking about that. I have not forgotten my writing on, well, writing, either, and in making that a greater part of my life. Speaking with friends has helped greatly in refocusing my efforts and in just venting.

It took a little time to get into the swing of spending most of my time in the apartment. I am ashamed to admit that I still haven't rearranged my "home office" to my liking. If Thursday, my first day without access to the career service's Website, is a rainy day, I'll "reward" myself with a storm of housekeeping to match the cleansing waters outside.

If there's anything that gives me pride from this past month, it's my gym attendance. My weight is close to the same as the beginning of the month, but I have visited the gym five times per week since my layoff, and I have new muscle on my frame. I tracked each visit on paper (thank you, InDesign) to chart my progress. With this habit established, I can focus more completely on my diet, which — though much better — still needs work. Not hitting the bagel store each weekday morning alone has been beneficial, both to my waistline, my blood sugar, and my wallet. ($3.89 each visit adds up!) Plus, this has given me the chance to get the hell out of the house once per day. I've also been able to take good long walks with the return of reliably clear weather. If I can keep this up, I will come ever closer to fulfilling my pledge of improving my fitness and diet, and maybe enjoy whatever job I eventually get just a little bit longer.

At one month out, I realize I bear my previous employer, and those who currently do my job, no ill will. This tells me I was done with the joint long before I departed. I have reminisced with M. about some of the ill-advised or short-sighted things that happened in our last months there. But those are now learning experiences. They will serve us both in getting our full worth from future employers or clients. It's way too early to call this game over. Likely, we'll both face job changes again, possibly even involuntary. By then we will both be far more resilient, as a result of our experience at the previous employer, and by absorbing the lessons from the career center. I can't see how this layoff hurts us long-term, even if it takes months to find work.

I have exciting times coming. M. graduates in two weeks, and she was gracious enough to invite me to a party she is throwing to celebrate it. I have the privilege of watching two pairs of friends marry in May and June. I face the challenge of continuing my fitness training, which has been successful so far. I will place into practice the lessons I've absorbed on job hunting in the coming weeks as well. I will share as much as I can here, in pursuit of my goal to write faithfully and truly. I may never sell a word of my work, but it doesn't mean I shouldn't write as well as I can muster. Silence is a luxury no mortal has.

Career Exercise

IN THE COURSE OF the career-path materials I have been working through these past few weeks, one exercise had a more speculative nature. It asked the reader to look back on the execution of his or her career vision after 5 years in its pursuit. This was a multiquestion, freeform exercise, allowing more depth in response than the stereotypical "Where do you see yourself in five years?" interviewer chestnut.

I have been answering the exercises in this section from two career-path standpoints: as a graphic designer and as a writer. The latter being more speculative based on my current career path, I chose that perspective. At the risk of sharing proprietary information from this company's methods, I paraphrase the questions hereafter, along with my unedited replies:

Most important contribution you have made through your work:
My essays or informational articles empowered readers to take control and make permanent changes in their lives. I inspired them to pursue their own goals and interests. I became a trusted source of information.

Most productive or exciting aspect of my career:
Most productive was having a weekly column for which I produced short pieces, either on specific topics or personal essays, to a wide readership. This series gave me clips to shop around, to expand into larger projects, and eventually to sell as a book.
Most exciting aspect was receiving responses from readers on how my work has helped them.

Most difficult challenge and how you overcame it:
Getting started! I did a lot of writing for spec early, and sent it to a wide variety of publications. Rejection was difficult, and doing work for no immediate money put a crimp in my spending. I made sure to understand my markets, heed submission requirements, work closely with editors to ensure the suitability of my pieces, and never stopped writing. Nothing was as satisfying as making that first sale, and when I was accepted, others followed in buying my work. Never underestimate the influence of being able to provide solid, engaging copy on short notice and regular deadlines to content managers.

What skills have I perfected in my career?
Writing good copy quickly. Research. Interviewing. Accepting editorial advice gracefully. Finding new, regular markets. Taking inspiration and turning it into powerful results on the page or screen.

What did I enjoy least?
For a long time, I worked a second job as a proofreader and copyeditor, so I had to scramble to earn money for retirement and healthcare. Rejection, even for good reasons. Scarcity of markets. Beginning articles and then realizing there isn't enough content to justify word count. And of course that ancient writer's lament, not getting timely payment.

What awards or commendations have you received that were the most meaningful?
My column is syndicated widely via RSS. I have received recognition for my personal blog. I have been invited to speak on topics of my writing. The Village Voice and Time Out New York have both favorably reviewed my first book.

Either this is a brash, presumptuous list of isinglass fantasies or a series of target at which I need to launch myself. I'm not sure which. All I know is that these words came from somewhere.

Precipice

I HAD THE PLEASURE of speaking with my friend and former supervisor, M., yesterday afternoon. She had some downtime between stages of her final grad-school project work, and we chatted for well over an hour. I miss being able to holler over the cube wall at her.

We discussed a wide range of topics, but the central theme was employment. I have no doubt that she can find work after she graduates. The question is whether it will pay remotely what she is worth. She told me how the salaries today compare to those her friends and classmates were able to snag 10 years ago, and it's a grim comparison.

Both of us could pick up a junior job in some publishing, advertising, or other shop where we could lay out pages, retouch art, and the like — similar to the job I probably could have taken in my first week — but is that the best thing for me right now? I'm no graphic designer. I'm just a page monkey. I understand typography, page layout, the needs of a printer, and how to work fast fast fast with complex work. I have no formal art or design training, I can't tell you anything about color theory, I don't have a historical understanding of graphic design history, and I have no experience outside of periodicals. I am way behind even undergraduate design majors in these respects. This is not to say I can't make an attractive book or magazine. It's just that employers want designers to do more than this . . . and for less.

M. agreed with the self-analysis I offered above, in somewhat different form. I asked her rhetorically if I really ought to take the time to continue at my present level in a design/layout/typesetting position, paying as much or (probably) less than my last salary, work two or three years, learn the software and techniques that I would need to become a full designer, and hope by then I could qualify for the magic "X to Y years of experience in [specialty] design" I see in the ads . . . or start at the absolute ground level in a new field whose focus is closer to my truest, most devoted talent, gain experience, get paid nothing for quite a while, but take a shot at aligning my passion with my career, no matter the cost. Is it worth changing jobs, even careers, and grind my way along for a couple of years, at an age when hiring managers expect candidates to be in senior positions or at least on track toward same, and yet reap the reward of full career satisfaction?

This post comes to mind.

I may be on the threshold of a complete transformation. When I changed jobs in 1999, the functions were different, but it was still editing, still typesetting, and even still training, what with my inept boss at the time. If my hunch is correct, I may need to spend the next several months going in a very different direction than I had been. Even "going" is a stronger stance than the one I had taken at my last position, which was largely stasis. Standing still.

Standing still is for statues. Right now I need to move. Let them build my statues when they capture me accurately — after I'm dead.

Career and Fitness Roundup

IT'S BEEN BUSY AROUND here. I spent Thursday and Friday in all-day seminars at the career-counseling office. On Saturday, I ran errands and entered my sixth week of thrice-weekly weight training with a newly revised routine. Between the two, I was capsized by a weird and intense wave of nostalgia for the greatest city in the world. I'll touch on all of these.

I woke up on Thursday grumpy. I'd just spent three days at home working through the career-center materials. This program will leave me more prepared and confident in my job search, so I am not knocking it. The prospect of two more full days of the same, stuck in an office without the local park, library, gym, or even walking path for an escape, was not encouraging.

I got to the office early and found most of the other participants had done the same. Only two empty seats remained. Everyone had already written their names on the cards provided, so I took this as a sign that folks were willing to contribute. My grumpiness began to lift somewhat, if only from seeing other people.

The instructor showed up right on time, and we began with an introductory exercise. She asked each of us to give our profession and describe our last position, our reason for departing, one good thing that's happened in our lives (in work or outside), our hopes and concerns over the process, and what we would truly like to do next in our career. I was fourth in line, so I had some time to think of answers. The "one good thing" stumped me at first; the lingering funk I was in clouded my objectivity.

By the time they got to me, I had recalled a piece of advice from P., the career coach who had visited our office shortly after the layoff news. When speaking on the phone during our job hunt, he said, stand. You project more forcefully when speaking in a standing position than when sitting. Taking this cue, I said, while rising, "I feel more comfortable talking to a crowd when I stand, so I'm gonna stand." I tried to hold everyone's gaze for at least one sentence while I said my piece, which I managed to deliver without my usual storm of "uh"s and "y'know"s. As for the "one good thing" example, I briefly summarized my successful writing devotion.

Hearing the others gave me a sense of their optimism. Aside from one guy who was a salesman and seemed like a bluff-hearty bullshit artist, the others varied from tentative to shellshocked. Putting folks on the spot to speak in front of 10 strangers is rough for some folks. When I learned that two of the most reticent people were also in the business of corporate communications and executive-level event planning, respectively, I wondered how this had affected their work. These professions require effective speech and confidence, both of which seemed muted in their body language and projection. As far as optimism, their manner and tone conveyed more of a "what choice do I have?" attitude toward the learning that lay ahead.

The class that day and next alternated through enlightenment, pulling teeth, and contrariness on the part of some of the participants. The instructor was not forceful enough in keeping the people on track. They easily diverted into areas inessential to the course materials, or even the job hunt. The instructor had a bad habit of engaging folks on these points, rather than diverting the course firmly through its many stages. Worse, when she tried to return to the materials, she would often think of something at the last minute to offer the person who was diverging — a website, an humorous rejoinder to the person's point, a reference to another person's wisecrack earlier that sparks said person to sound off for a minute — and delay our return to the defined path.

I understand it's important to have a dialogue in these events. I know how helpful it is for folks going through the often lonely effort of job hunting to know there are others enduring the same quest, and how others in meetings like this can not only provide advice, but actual leads on jobs. But when the instructor mentions an online networking tool, and the conversation diverts for 15 minutes because the class is split on whether it's a pay service, whether you have to be invited like Gmail, et cetera — I had a strong feeling that we would give the final stages of the process short shrift. One of these stages was the interview, no small part of the process.

The inability of some of the participants to let the instructor help them was disturbing. I know being thrown out of a long-term position is demoralizing and leads one to question one's worth. But the attitude of some of these folks went from submission to surrender. This includes the corporate communications person and the event planner. The former was responsible for producing award-winning annual reports —writing, collating financial data, working with legal departments, contracting artists and printers, and quality control. She claimed she wouldn't be of use to an organization these days simply because she had been doing this one thing, in addition to her other daily duties, for so long. The event planner, who surely had contact with caterers, florists, event halls and staffing agencies, and the executive staffs of the bigwigs throughout her own firm, said she had no connections. The instructor tried to pry some details out of her on what she did, but could not get this 18-year veteran of corporate event planning to do so or even realize the value of her network. This went beyond shyness or poor speaking skills. This was a failure to let a skilled professional help. Few things make me angrier.

Add to this a microbiologist who contradicted several pieces of advice or research-tested techniques that the company had developed. Sometimes he wouldn't even offer evidence, just saying something like, "Are employers really going to accept that?" or "Does [technique] really apply to people in my industry?" At one point, after grinding my teeth through a day and a half of this guy's shit, when the instructor took a moment to describe the details of corporate-recruiter compensation, he said, "Do we really need to know this?"

"Excuse me." I halted the instructor. To him: "I find this useful. I've registered for a recruiter conference that [the firm] is offering on April [X]. [Firm] thinks it's important enough to invite recruiters to tell us how they do their job, so I want to hear what [instructor] has to say on this point too."

That was his last interjection.

I had a break between these classes when my friends Jen and Steve held a dinner party Thursday night to give me, Felix, and his girlfriend a chance to see their new house. It was very relaxing and gave me a chance to speak about anything but the job hunt for a few hours. I confess, I woke up Friday morning even more grumpy than Thursday, faced as I was with another full day with these jokers.

It was a grind. The incident I mentioned earlier with the online networking tool occurred Friday. We were just about to enter the networking chapter, which is one of the areas in which I am weakest, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming as the instructor kept letting herself get diverted from the coursework. I had 2½ weeks left to exploit the services of the career counselors. Any distraction over useless bullshit took unrecoverable time from that total.

I went home Friday feeling very drained. I had taken lunch across the street to avoid contact with any of the students (though I wasn't able to avoid the salesman, who unfortunately came into the men's room where I was trapped and kept asking me questions about myself, despite the implicit signals of my one-word answers to fuck off). I knew there was great value in the course materials, and I had been hoping to explore them in greater depth with a career expert and willing students. Instead, I found that this path, like many in my life, would most profitably be followed solo.

My guard was sufficiently down by bedtime to feel deeply nostalgic about not going to New York City each day. I couldn't get the various experiences of the past 7 years out of my head. The Manhattan skyline capped with dense, low clouds from the vista of the Lincoln Tunnel helix. Neon reflecting on wet Times Square pavement. Empty avenues barely lit with dawn and free of cars when I came in before 6 a.m. to bust out a newsletter on tight time. The cannon knocking down the toy soldiers atop the Radio City Music Hall marquee each Christmas season. The steps of the Treasury Building downtown, where traders, bankers, and the statue of George Washington watched a presidential hopeful address the creche of world capital. The feeling, wherever in the city I was standing, of being in the center of the universe, which I have not felt in Boston, Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia, or Las Vegas. I know I can return there with a quick dash down to the Hudson, either via tunnel or ferry, but 2 weeks without walking on its streets hit me at a vulnerable moment, and I felt sad to have lost the daily opportunity.

Eight hours of sleep set my mind right. I had other matters to worry about. Saturday marked the beginning of my sixth week of devoted gym visits. Though the close of my last job and the need to launch my career search led me to move the specific dates around, I still got to the gym for a full-body weight-training workout three days a week. I also used the aerobics floor at least one day on top of those each week. I've added a little muscle, and my weight dropped by a few more pounds.

Now that I've established the habit, I want to return to one of the more successful routines I used when I was still going to work. It is a two-day split of body areas, done twice per week with a day separating the visits. Rather than using one long set per exercise, this one broke it into three shorter sets, with more weight each time. In the past, I allowed schedules, mood, or other distractions to pull me off of the program, but when I stuck with it, it worked well. This time, I have clear early mornings and late afternoons — the perfect time to push the advantage. I've taken a break from the Thursday night game to keep my sleep cycle on track (work or not, and winning or losing, recovering from a 3 a.m. bedtime is rough).

I wrote up a sample routine and hit the gym late yesterday afternoon to try it out. I found my intro circuit, useful as it was in establishing a habit, missed some areas I wanted to cover, like my lower back. (Whatever else I did at the gym, I always made sure to work my back muscles, to avoid the problems many of my friends were now encountering in their late 30s.) I lowballed the weight so I could get my form down, as I hadn't performed a couple of these exercises in a few months. I got a good start, hitting abs, back, chest, and biceps. Today is legs, shoulders, and triceps. Once I get the specific exercises chosen, I'll make up a new chart and get my progress on paper.

One useful tip: I left space on my last chart to jot notes. Nothing too complex; little hints for the next visit, like "Strong throughout. Move up," or "Weak form past rep 12." Just something to keep my progress steady but forward. If I've been stuck on a certain resistance or even a whole exercise, I want to know. I've also been writing down what aerobic work I've done between weight-training visits.

I am hopeful that my job hunt and my fitness work will mesh. Success in one field has to build confidence in other areas. Plus, if I have a frustrating day searching for work, I can always dash over to the gym for 30 minutes on the elliptical trainer or take a long walk. And I am documenting all of my work in finding a job, not unlike the records I'm keeping of my gym visits. The program actually mandates that you track your time in searching, all the contacts you make, the volume of correspondence you send out, and other tangible markers of job-hunt work, so if you're lingering uselessly in one area, it becomes evident, and you can correct course.

I have solid notes from the seminar on what to do next, despite the distractions. I will let the other students inspire me to dig deep into my abilities and to inquire constructively, rather than hide behind my achievements and let cynicism paralyze action. As for the gym, well, completing a long walk up and over a tall hill yesterday without stopping or losing my wind was solid evidence of my progress. I have a long way to go, but at least I can see results.

If I can still fit into my interview suit when the time comes to dust it off, I know I will have passed major milestones in both fields.

Still Balancing "Work" at Home

I'M GETTING A LITTLE vexed with my home workspace. My whole apartment, really. There's no barrier between the two worlds any more. I feel like I'm still adapting to being here full time. This feeling is matched by my speculation about the direction my career should take. My roots are loose and I wonder how best to tighten my grip on the familiar soil.

To begin with, I have a big heap of shit from the office that I need to integrate into the existing mounds. I grabbed sample issues of newsletters with a bias toward taking more than I might need, figuring I could throw out those I didn't use. I have three plants floating from desk to table to chair, depending on which I need to clear. I also have several days of the Wall Street Journal to catch up on. The 45 minutes I used on the train to read it has not found a niche in my morning schedule just yet.

I want to clean, but I am also conscious of the limited amount of time I have to progress through the stages of the career-transition program I'm taking. I only have a month's worth of their services, as the coach I've been assigned has reminded me a couple of times. I'm nervous about missing out on some of the training by taking some time for myself to get the place in order, but if the piles of crap are getting in the way of my well-being, I can't see how reducing or eliminating them is bad.

The career work itself is a bit of a seesaw. I'm still trying to see where I fit, seeing as I am considering changing careers. Some of the materials look like they'd guide me to make a resume that would keep me in my current profession. This would be effective if I want to find another graphic design position, which I might have to if I need to take very basic retraining courses in another career. I'm just nervous about standing still, which would impress neither the future potential employers in graphic design or production, nor those looking for a body of relevant writing clips for a job in that field. At my age, I can't burn too much time in appearing to be idle.

The career program has been productive thus far, but because of my career indecision, I suspect it will take me longer than a month to complete all of the materials. There is a set of textbooks, an online learning track, and a series of conference-call seminars, in addition to in-office visits. I have 2 days' worth of those coming on Thursday and Friday. As long as they are packed with information, it should be very worth it. The online courses have thus far been informative, though I'm a little worried they mimic the content in the books. What does definitely follow that content are the conference calls. Sitting through these has been murder; folks not muting their phones, proctors asking questions and seeming surprised when nobody answers (you asked them to mute the phones!), and the numbing inertia of sitting for 60 to 90 minutes holding a phone to your ear. I buckle down and take notes as best I can, but if I had to do these every week, I'd invest in a headset so at least I could type my notes and not nurse a dead elbow after the call ends.

I know these problems are quite minor on the scale of global human misery, and even on that of layoffs of middle-class suburbanites. I have no dependents or debt to tend, and the means to survive without a job for quite some time. What I don't have yet, though, is balance. Ratatosk providentially wrote earlier with some pointers on how to make a stretch of joblessness more productive, and I was happy to see that some of my mental list matched his written one. I want to stay busy, but rounded, and as much as I can be snail-like and curl up in my house, I need to get out now and again.

It's all very new and I'm caught between not wanting to waste the chance to get it right this time, and my tendency to dig in so far I lose sight of the sun.

Two Very Busy Days

IT'S BEEN A CHALLENGING pair of days, and not due to the ongoing job hunt. My father had another visit to the hospital on Thursday. He is home now, and seemingly well, with outpatient follow-up care the next step through midweek. Here's the scoop.

Thursday morning at six, my phone rang. I awoke instantly. Calls between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. are never good. My heart rate accelerated as I heard my mother reply to my hello. She said my father was having chills. For a half hour, he had been shivering, with his teeth chattering, and despite checking to see if the window was open and adding a blanket to the bed, nothing warmed him up. He was in no pain, had no numbness or tingling in any extremities, had a normal heartbeat, could speak and move well, and was fully aware. I began to relax at hearing no signs of stroke or heart attack were present.

I was more concerned about my mother. Her voice betrayed her anxiety, and I wanted to keep it from accelerating. I told her not to worry and that I would get dressed and come over right away. I knew they wanted to go to the hospital to get this checked out. We agreed that an ambulance would probably make both of them more anxious, so I told my mother I would drive us all over.

As I dressed quickly, I thought about what this could possibly be. My father hadn't had a cold in some time, had showed no sign of illness Wednesday night when I had had dinner there, and had gotten a seasonal flu shot. A blood test and perhaps a chest X-ray seemed like the logical next steps.

I dressed swiftly and raced over. My mother was dressed and ready to roll. My father was still in bed. She said his chills had stopped. From his bed, swathed in extra covers, he said he was feeling better. This is never the last word on any given illness of my father's. It takes a few attempts to get the full story out. He does this to spare my mother stress, but in fact this heightens it.

He asked for 15 more minutes before he got dressed and joined us in the car. I assented. What else could I do? His symptom had abated, he was clearly conscious (if tired), so I wandered back into the dining room and read the paper, while my mother shotgunned a cigarette.

We finally left the house at 7. He grabbed another 20 minutes of sleep beyond the first 15, then rose, dressed, and joined us. The hospital is about 4 minutes away, so we were in the emergency room in no time. Admission was swift, the room being empty. My mother filled the time before we were allowed to visit my dad by sleeping. At least this let me know her anxiety had receded.

We got the OK to enter a half hour later. My dad, feeling no further chills, was in a hospital robe, lying uncomfortably on the bed. He had pulled a muscle in his back two weeks prior, and the position to which the bed had been raised was hitting him where it hurt. I eased the bed down to horizontal, which seemed to help. The attending physician had ordered X-rays and taken samples, so now it was a matter of getting some detailed results.

This took the better part of 4 hours. Although my mother and I stopped at the hospital coffee shop for a much-needed breakfast, for the duration, we stood or sat by my father's bedside, waiting for further news on the results. All we knew at that point was he had a mildly elevated white cell count in his urine. This could mean anything; the blood would be more informative, and we would need a culture if there was in fact an infection. His primary-care physician did visit, though, to examine him, and he was leaning toward keeping Dad at least overnight to get some antibiotics or merely to be observed, depending on results. An infectious-disease specialist was incoming to make this read.

Dad was finally admitted to a room at 1:00. I had two career-counseling teleconferences arranged for the afternoon, the first at 2:00. I would have skipped them both, but my parents urged me to go. With Dad stable and asymptomatic, my mother felt comfortable staying on her own and returning home via taxi. I kissed them both goodbye and raced back home, in time to catch the first call from the beginning.

As part of the career counseling program, one can attend teleconference and web conference seminars. I took the introductory one earlier that week, and I had signed up for two more to keep things moving (we only get a month's worth of services). I have to admit, though, that my mind was not on the details, and I was more scribe than student.

Back-to-back teleconferences in my mental state was murder, made worse by the participants' inattention to repeated proctor requests to mute their phones. Every time I heard someone walking around their house, shushing their children, or shifting the phone in their grip, my blood pressure mounted. I just gritted my teeth and kept writing, hoping my notes would make sense when I was clearer of mind. What I recall of the classes seemed helpful.

Once this was done, I rummaged around the place for food and returned to my parents' house to pick up my mother for a second visit. We found my father finishing dinner and watching the Yankees. He had an antibiotic drip leading into his hand, but he was otherwise alert and feeling well. The surroundings didn't seem to be getting him down, but my father has a reputation for stoic endurance, especially when it comes to keeping my mother's mind tranquil.

We had a visit from the infectious-disease specialist while we were there, a petite, cute Jewish doctor who, sadly, was married. Too bad; she had tended to my mother on a visit for cellulitis years earlier, and she got high marks all around. She confirmed that they were culturing the blood sample to determine the precise reason for his chills, and that in the absence of specific or continuing symptoms, they would continue the broad-spectrum antibiotic until they had a culprit.

Said culprit came early the next morning: septicemia. Something had been brewing, and it had created the inflammatory response and chills that are part of the symptoms of that blood affliction. My mother called me with this news and sounded just as upset as she had the previous morning. I told her if he had no fever, further chills, or other signs of illness, then we probably got in front of this disorder early enough to keep it from progressing into the full septicemia syndrome. Considering all septicemia indicates is a bacterial presence in the bloodstream, the doctor or nurse could have picked a less charged term.

The doctors wanted more tests on my dad, including a bone scan to find any hidden osseous infections, and an ultrasound on his heart and kidneys. Return home prior to Easter Sunday was up in the air. No skin off our asses from a religious standpoint, as we don't celebrate it in any sense. My mom just wanted to know precisely what was up. If it was full septicemia, my dad could be looking at a few weeks in the joint. My mother doesn't get around well on her own, and has little recent practice in driving the big retirement-mobile my dad bought a few years back.

During our Friday visit to my father's room, I got a call from my former supervisor, to whom I shall refer in this blog as M. She called to take a break from working; she is racing to finish her thesis presentation and two prototype projects for extremely picky professors. All three have her just as anxiety ridden as my mother, it seems. I tried to calm her down, to let her know that taking breaks from her work and getting enough sleep would pay off in the long run, as they had when I had massive term papers at the very end of my own college career. I gave her the full story on the flower adventure, not having wanted to interrupt her work earlier in the week with details. We covered all manner of subjects from our former teammates at the job to my early impressions of the career-coaching firm. Talking with M. was my first contact with the outside world, so to speak, since Wednesday, and I sensed she needed as much of a break as I did; also, she is an excellent conversationalist and I dearly miss having her on the other side of the cube day to day. By the time my call-waiting cut in, 45 minutes had passed, and my mother was ready to leave; Dad had been taken upstairs for testing. I bade M. a happy Easter, urged her to take a break at some point later that day, and hung up.

I took Mom shopping and over to the hair salon for a visit deferred from Thursday. I stole a half hour to visit the gym and blow off some tension on the elliptical trainer. I had been idle for nearly three days, and eating less programmatically, and I was feeling it. The rest of Friday was a downer blur; I didn't want to commit to anything too distant from home in case I was needed, but I was too disorganized to rejoin the course materials from the career joint.

Saturday brought good news. All tests were negative. The doctors were happy with the results and decided to remove Dad's IV dock and let him come in for treatment from home for a few days. I was relieved, both to have Dad home and Mom more relaxed. When I drove over, Dad was all but scratching at the door to be let out. The hospital has eliminated the checkout procedure, so I was able to escort him down without hurdling a mass of paperwork.

I was pleased to be home, rather than tied up in the city, during this whole adventure. Naturally, had I been employed on Thursday when my mom called, I would have taken the day off; Friday, too, would have been negotiable; no sense sitting there and worrying when I could be helping them both.

The challenge now is to establish the daily pattern I was trying to put together last week. With visits to the career center on Monday and Wednesday, and a mass of reading material and online courses to take, it proves to be a busy month — and that's not even counting the job hunt itself. I need to stay busy at this. I also need to keep a list of any job contacts I make, to present to New York State if there's an inquiry into my unemployment insurance. I've got two contact so far in the first week, so I am definitely able to prove I have been looking. I need more than looking, though; I need finding.

In what field, though . . . ah, that's the real question. Another post perhaps. For now, I'm just happy to have my father back home and my mother relaxed again.