This midlife crisis isn’t as easy as they make it look in the movies. In “American Beauty” Kevin Spacey’s character walks into a hamburger joint and lands a job as a fry cook. It ain’t that simple. I’m trying to land a job, any job, and people look at me like I’m crazy. They don’t hire me because they think something is wrong. Something is wrong. I’m unemployed … and mentally unstable … and recovering from addiction. But all in all I think I’m a pretty good candidate. HA! It’s good to be me.

So here I am: an able bodied individual trying to get work and I can’t. WTF? At first I was surprised. Then I was sad. Now I’m frustrated.

On the upside, it’s day 115. I’m happy about that. One hundred and fifteen days without a drink. People told me it would get easier. It has. I’ll admit there are still days when I’d like to pop into a bar and commiserate. Like the day I found out I was getting sodomized by the IRS and the state of Califuckingfornia. That wasn’t so much an addict moment as a “God I need to get out of here” moment. By that I mean, it wasn’t the demons luring me into oblivion; it was me looking for a parachute. If someone offered me a trip to Tibet, I would have taken them up on it.

Hmm, maybe I can work abroad. I wouldn’t mind leaving the states for a while. I lived in Sweden for about 2 years and dug it. The Swedes are fine folks – honest and kind hearted. Perhaps I should swing by and say hello. Hur mår du?

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