What do 371 days mean?

It has been one year and a week since the day that I was laid off from my job at the neighborhood bookstore.

I almost just typed, "the day that my life fell apart," but I know that that is hyperbole in its purest form. While at many times over the past year and one week I truly felt that everything had completely unraveled, I know that such is not the case. Yes, my savings accounts are completely wiped out (one is even in the red, thanks to monthly maintenance charges). I do indeed have about $500 worth of unpaid medical bills, courtesy of my brief bout with pneumonia and a few grueling months of dental work. My credit card debt is so disastrous that there is only one other person on the planet besides myself and the credit card companies that know how far in the hole I am, and I hope to keep it that way. My health insurance coverage expired at midnight. Tomorrow I'm wearing pants to work that have been stapled at the hem and expertly colored over with a Sharpie marker.

And even all of that crap cannot be counted as evidence of one's life falling apart.

Welcome to life in 2010.

Some days, I'm hopeful. Other days, I feel utterly hopeless. I landed a temp job, but it pays slightly more than working at the mall. Ok, a few dollars more per hour than working at the mall, but it's nowhere close to enough. I keep applying for jobs even though the responses are quite few. As in, out of the countless jobs I've applied for (averaging about 10 per week for 2 months), I've gotten a response from one of them. I've heard that insanity is repeating the same action over and over again and expecting a different result - that pretty much sums up my job hunt.

But things have to get better, right? 'Cause between you and me, I don't think I can take another 371 days of this nonsense.

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