I am on day 21 of employment, and I have no problems admitting that it is starting to weigh on me just a bit. Just yesterday, I had what I thought was the perfect job lined up. They saw my resume, a Project Manager was 100% sure that my skillset as a writer was something he was looking for in a technical writer, and the salary was even more than I was making at my previous position. I was pre-screened, we had a bit of a conversation, and last Friday we made plans for me to come in and interview on Tuesday (today) at noon. The recruiter I spoke to said that he'd send me an email with details in terms of who I should report to, the time I should come, the address, etc. That was at 3pm on Friday.

Monday morning came, and I didn't think it was too alarming that I hadn't receive an email, because Mondays are usually full of bullshit office small talk, useless meetings and an abundance of emails. I haven't been unemployed that long that I cannot remember that game. But Monday morning turned into Monday afternoon, and by 4pm I still had to yet to hear from this employer--so I called.

When the dude answered the phone he apologized for not calling me sooner, then he informed me that the job I had visions on claiming, was $20-25k less than what I wanted. In the next breath, he mentioned two or three other jobs that he would consider me for (one of which I'm waiting to hear about now), and I'll admit I was optimistic that he had something else ready for me. But I was sill pissed that I was the one who had to initiate the dialogue, especially I was informed that an email was forthcoming.

So that's where I am. I went on a third interview with an employer yesterday, and it appears that an offer is forthcoming, but that job starts Nov 1st which means I'll have to sell crack and write freelance articles by October 1st (I'm kidding, but not really).

I've also discovered that the question, "So how's the job search going?" annoys the shit out of me, and makes me wildly defensive. I know people mean well and they just want to see if their assistance is needed but I feel like job updates are something I should initiate. They should not be provoked. Of course I could end all this b.s. by simply being employed once again.


I'm working it.

It has been a few days since Aretha died, but I can still post my favorite song right? I love the drum break down in this song, and I also like how effortlessly she rides his beat. She was a once-in-a-generation talent, and thank God her vast music catalog is still around for all to hear/see/digest.

My son Carlton turns 21 years old today. I have actually had to stop and say that out loud more than a few times. Twenty f**king one. He just got back from overseas, he's married with a child on the way in October, but I still consider him to be my young man.

21 years ago on this day, I was working in Stride Rite and substitute teaching on the side. I was living in Fairfax, VA, and my son's mother was living in Hampton, VA. She called me around 1:15 in the afternoon to say that she was going into labor---two weeks early mind you--and I jumped in the car to head her way.

Two hours later, I was on the side of the road after being pulled over by a Virginia State Trooper in Spotsylvania County. I was going 81mph in a 65mph zone, and as soon as the cop came to my window, I told him that my son would be born any minute, and his mother was in labor. He looked me and said that was a heartwarming story, but that didn't give me carte blanche to speed---especially in Virginia. I took my ticket and kept right on speeding for the next hour.

I went right from the highway to the hospital, and after signing some b.s. paperwork, the nurses made me wash and scrub my hands, before putting on a hospital smock or whatever it is called. I was told that my son had been born just 30 minutes prior to my arrival and he was resting in the incubation room. That didn't make me cry.

I saw him laying down in the incubation room with his outfit on, and his little beady eyes were just darting all over the room. That didn't make me cry either.

But as soon as the nurse lifted my son out of the incubation tray and put him in my hands, I looked at him, he looked at me, and I just started bawling. My mom and Sara's (my son'so the grandmother) mom just walked away so I could have my moment.

It's the little things you know?

And even though I am quite sure I have mentioned this story and the song I'm about to post below, I don't care. It never gets old...but I do..

Here's the picture that was taken an hour after I arrived to the hospital:

And here's the song I played to young Carlton as we left the hospital:



And here's my son--the Marine--just a couple weeks ago before he came home:

So I am almost a week into unemployment and my feelings are mixed so far. On one hand, you never realize how much of a break you need (and never get) from working until your hand is forced by the evil monster called unemployment. I applied for jobs last week, and I tied up loose ends with my previous employer, but I also got a chance to write and binge watch a little Mad Men. I thoroughly enjoyed that.

Conversely, when Monday morning came, and my wife and son were getting ready for work and school respectively, I felt like a supreme loser. I had an interview scheduled for this morning but it was postponed due to some unforeseen family emergency. So instead of sitting in the house while continuing to apply for work, I "ventured" over to a coffee shop in an effort lift my spirits. It really isn't working, but I'm out of the house so that's good right?

The one good thing that has happened is that my son Carlton is finally home from overseas after being gone since last year. I get to to see him and his pregnant wife next weekend, and I could not be happier. It is still bullshit that I am going to be grandfather at 43, but it will be fulfilling to sit with my son and his wife as they prepare for parenthood.

In the meantime, if you're reading this, and you can help me get a job in the technical/sports writing field, send me an email and let's go business: rashad20@gmail.com