I’m a streaky writer. Just like Ray Allen can hit ten consecutive three-pointers in the first half and then miss ten straight in the second half, I’m able to write a blog post a day for a good week before going into a five day drought. That’s what I’m in the midst of right now - a long, unproductive, good-for-nothing drought.

Talk about an ironic time to have a writer’s drought, too, since it hasn’t stopped raining since a white guy was president. (Seriously, the rain is ridiculous and it shows no signs of stopping. I know I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning and find my basement has flooded worse than Bourbon Street.) Perhaps the rain is one reason for my writer’s drought, though. It’s put me in a funk, or at least it’s pushed the funk along. The first nudge into funkdom came after a recent employment opportunity proved fruitless. I even had a good interview with them that didn’t include a single John Mayer moment.

Of course, it’s my fault for being hopeful in the first place. Having hope is like putting a shag rug over a pile of dog shit; when you’re standing on the rug, it feels divine between your toes, but when it’s pulled out from underneath you, you’re standing in dog shit.

Should I say shit? Maybe not. Potential employers may be reading this blog and find it unappealing. However, most potential employers also find it unappealing that I’m a writer with film development experience trying to find work in communications fields like public relations and advertising. They want me to have experience in those particular fields, but how do I gain experience if everyone requires experience to start with? Experience experience experience. It’s my own personal F word. From here on out, we’re calling it the E word.

If you’re someone who reads me a lot, you may think that now I’m going to make an analogy between the rain and my quest for employment, each having no end in sight. If you think that analogy will be found anywhere in this post, you have another thing coming, Mr. or Mrs. Why would I make that comparison? It’d be silly. Rain is rain and employment is employment. Potato, tomato.

I should slow down. Is this coming across as angry? I’m sorry and please don’t worry. I’m writing it lightheartedly and in jest. I promise. I haven’t descended into the 9th circle of unemployment and have no plans to do so. (The 9th circle of unemployment, for the record, is Daytime Soap Operas.) This is just a slight detour back to the original subject of my postings when I started blogging in September under the original title “Dear World, Please Give Me A Job.” No worries. I’ll be back to writing cutesie short stories and posts about the Oscar’s (only 10 days away) in no time.

For now, though, put up with this not-so-pleasant topic. I need to purge all the bad thoughts so I can move on with my life and get back to frequent writing and upbeat thinking. I feel better the more often I write. It’s science. My emotions are linked as closely to my writing efforts as Elliot’s feelings are linked to those of E.T. When I’m publishing several posts a week, my self-esteem is through the roof. I walk down the street, grab the prettiest girl I can find, and plant a big one on her. And she enjoys it. She may even grab my tush. When I’m not writing and my mood is down, however, I make passes at Sasquatch’s female relatives. And they reject me. Since I’m more on the path of the latter than the former right now, clearly I need to purge.

So, to purge a few things:

1) If another person asks me what I’m trying to do when I say I’m looking for a job, I’m going to stick their nose in the stuff you find under my metaphorical shag carpet. What am I trying to do? I’m trying to apply my abilities as a writer and a creator to get a job for which I’m not professionally prepared so I can stave off bills and debt that are raping me from a half dozen different angles, but for the time being I’m settling for a $60 per diem as a substitute teacher.

2) The next time an interviewer looks at me with a straight face and asks me a cliche question like what my biggest weakness is, I’m going to answer, “You.” My biggest weakness is that the people with the power to give me a chance don’t want to give me a chance. I can do whatever they want me to do better than anybody else they could get to do it. (Eye rollers: Since I’m currently at the bottom of the barrel, you can’t read that statement as arrogant. Statements like that when the world has pulled a rug out from under you and left you standing in dog shit are an example of perseverance and sustaining confidence, not arrogance.

3) F the E word.

Phew. Much better. I guess there was a little bit of anger in there after all, though. I’m sorry for breaking my promise. I hope this doesn’t need to affect us. I’m still the great cuddler I always was.

Speaking of cuddling, I recently wrote a cover letter to a company with a special twist on it. I went a little off book because it seemed like a great environment for creative people. Since they kicked me to the curb, I don’t see why it can’t be something you can enjoy. “Enjoy a cover letter?” you ask. Indubitably:

My Dearest HubSpot,

February is a month of love, and with Valentine’s Day less than two weeks away, I can’t stand another moment without coming forward as who I really am - a secret admirer who has been stealing glances of you from afar. I’ve seen many sides of you - your website, your videos, your employees - and have to declare, now before the entire world, that I love you, HubSpot.

I know we’ve never met, and most relationships sparked over the internet are doomed to fail, but I promise you I’m different than your normal suitors. Do any of those who court you have a widespread creative background that includes blogging, Hollywood feature film development, prose and screenwriting, a newspaper column, or writing and hosting experience of radio and television programs? I could go on, but why say here what my attached resume, a faithful wingman who always sings my good praises, will declare on its own? I feel it is inevitable that you will see that our creative paths have been destined to cross each other since the start of our lives. In short, I’m your density…I mean, I’m your destiny.

The Fates have made it so. Cupid has already struck me with his arrow, and now that you’re looking my way, I know he’ll hit you with another. Be my muse, my dearest HubSpot, and I promise we’ll have a life together that is both joyous and fulfilling.

For further wooing, you can view my blog, a mixture of creative and journalistic pieces, at http://retired-at-22.tumblr.com/, follow me on Twitter at http://twitter.com/KielServideo, and connect with me on LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/in/kielservideo.

Adoringly yours,

Kiel Servideo

—-

Clearly, pouring my heart out didn’t work. It generated hope as it was passed around the office by a friend who works for the company, but ultimately the answer that came back pulled the rug out from under me and left me standing in…well, you know.

I like to think the cover letter is an example of how well I’ve been able to keep a light heart as this situation plays itself out…either that or it’s a tell-tale sign I’m losing my mind. I don’t think I’m losing my mind, though. I’ve done a good job keeping a positive outlook 90% of the time, convincing myself that things will get better and I’ll find a job soon. Most days I’m able to carry on quite cheerfully and you’d never know the anger that came out in this post is there. But it is, and now it’s been purged so I can get on with writing about things that are more pleasant to you and I.

Goodbye, Anger. I’ll see you again in a month or so.

I know from the E word.