Old Georgie

So yeah, the random job opportunity came up, and what can they say but no? And I've done nearly fifteen minutes, maybe even twenty of research into the company corporate culture lifestyle product pros cons salary problems opportunities and what the hell, I might be a match, why not but then I talked to a friend, a coworker, someone who knows the things that others don't, our situation, our opportunities or lack thereof and he raised some very reasonable, constructive, helpful questions.

Not criticisms.

Questions.

Because we're in the same boat, age income experience qualifications lifestyle fucking mentality and he raised some questions and he woke up my fucking nafs.

Which I learned I've been thinking of the wrong way, it doesn't mean what KSR said it did, or not generally, and the Quran views it differently than the Sufis in the book did but let's call it the nafs for lack of a better...

What's that?

There is a better name for it.

Depression would be one.

Impostor syndrome would be another.

The Cold Equations would be a third.

And who are you to think that you couldn't bluff your way through the fucking interview, Iain. The listing is wide open, you've got a skill set that's very rare. Very random, but very rare, and these are nerds, they know shit about shit that isn't coding and GIGO and RTFM, which is all that matters in this day and age but you could bring something, some reality, the dust in your teeth as the man in the round hat screams at you "That's not cover, move your ass in three two one you're fucking dead now bend, bend and thrust, dig me a fucking swimming pool and..."

That moment when you can only remember where you live because there are yellow lightbulbs in front of the restaurant on the first floor and you don't speak the language and you hold no currency to speak of and...

"9-1-1" "Help help daddy fell down and he's not moving" and she sounds young so fucking young there's no way CPR is going to work and you hope that the ANI/ALI is working, you hope that the address on the monitor is correct because Jenny might not even know her address yet, she knows the number to dial but "Okay honey, everything is going to be okay, where do you live?" but it's not going to be okay or is it because once you get all the info you can you pop the call over to the fire desk and they send out the ambulance and another line is ringing another complainant another citizen another person is having the worst day of their life and you're going to deal with it in two minutes or less and on to another and another and another until the last syllable of almost getting fired because when you were good you were very very good but when you were bad you were rotten and take that for your "diverse experiences" but but but the money the money the moving expenses the visa the green card does she even want to move how's her dad doing how much does an apartment cost is there public transportation what if the job doesn't work out and...

...and I don't anthropomorphize my depression but maybe I should, I don't hear voices, not that way, not auditory hallucinations but fuck if the Wachowski Sisters didn't get it right with Old Georgie whispering in my ear "Think about it, be realistic, it's never going to happen, you know that, you'll never even get a response back, and that's if bloody if you get your ten-year old resume sorted in time and you've got to write a cover letter too plus there's another field for a letter letter and they want a writer but they don't say what you'll write and do you dare breach your anonymity you're an English teacher who is an aspiring novelist who's had two thousand words or so published on a defunct site, why not just tell them you're a barista at Starbuck's in the Slums of Beverly Hills but really you're an actor you had a part in your first grade class play Meow meow meow a most unhappy cat, I cannot catch a single mouse or sneak up on a rat" where's my Oscar Golden Globe chance at a future the nafs lives just above the roof of the mouth...