National Write Your Congressman

The National Write Your Congressman company would like to schedule me for an interview. It is for a sales position. I watched their introduction video to learn more about the company and what they do. It looks like a good company, might be a great place to work. Nice workplace, dress up for work every day. Seemed like really nice people from what I could tell and hey, I really need a job. Just one problem. What the hell do you sell for National Write Your Congressman. The little presentation didn't clear it up. From what I could tell it might be some kind of a newsletter that "Businesses and Professionals" subscribe to. Wow.
I am starting to freak out about the job search. I think the only responses I am getting from my resume are the scams. I am really close to start looking for the best electrical job I can find and just get to work. I am what I am. Who the hell am I kidding? I am an electrician. That is what I know how to do. Realistically, that is the only thing I am going to be able to make someone else money doing. If you don't make someone else money it is tough to keep a job. Problem is, how long will I be able to work as an electrician? As my wife says, I am very fragile. It's true, it sucks, but it's true. I get sore taking the garbage out to the street. I'm scared. My stomach hurts. It really hurts. At night I have to totally think about something else to be able to get to sleep. I literally have to pretend that I am a Major League baseball player or something. It's embarassing, but it's true. I'll think in my mind about how I just go to some try out and they can't believe it. So they sign me. They think I'm too old, even though I tell them I'm only 32. By the time they find out the truth, I am so valuable that it doesn't matter. In the press conference to announce my big fat contract the GM says " We know he's old, but he hasn't been playing ball, so his body doesn't have the wear and tear of other players".
I am not kidding, if I don't think of stuff like this, i would be up all night. It changes all the time. From team to team and from sport to sport depending on what season it is. I really shouldn't let anybody read this because I know it's kind of , well I don't know. It's what I have to do. If I keep talking about it I will start crying. It's still hard to sleep because the thoughts of reality fight there way back in. Some drugs would be nice. So then I start to freak out, how am I going to do it when I mix in the serious pain from working as an electrician. I'll tell you, one day I will wake up and say I can't take it anymore and make some calls and get high. I will get high. Shit.
These bedtime thoughts are just that, thoughts. Or maybe daydreams. they are definately not dreams because I am not asleep. Here is another one that I often use: I am out late just walking along a dark street lined with houses. All of a sudden I hear some cars driving really fast and sirens screaming in the night. I just so happen to be taking a leak behind a bush so I am out on sight. Just then a low-rider car comes flying around the corner and they throw a big duffel bag out of the car and into the bushes next to me. They don't see me. The driver says "remember where this is and I'll let two of you out next chance we get and come and get this. Don't lose this bag". There is swearing and stuff involved after all they are rough and tough gang bangers. I freeze. Just then two cop cars come flying around the corner. sirens blazing, and driving as fast as they can. They are radioing for more help. These thugs are bad, real bad. The gang guys were just trying to get far enough ahead to throw the evidence out the window and then they would let one or two guys out when they could, if they could to go back and get the stuff. If they didn't get the stuff they would likely end up dead anyway, even if they escaped from the coppers. No one saw me, not the gang bangers or the police. the cops didn't see the bad either. Hmmm, I wonder what was in it. I climb into the bush and retrieve the bag, wow it's really heavy. I look around, no one around. Plan the quickest way home and head out staying away from street lights. I don't head directly home, I need to think, I need to think this through. What are the implications of taking this bag? First, I need to know what 's in it. So I hurry home as fast as I can. Every one is asleep at home. I go into the basement and open the bag. There are five medium sized bags and two small bags inside the large bag. The medium size bags are full of one-hundred dollar bills. Sometimes it's 7.8 million dollars sometimes it17.8 million dollars. It changes all the time. Sometimes I buy things, sometimes I plan how I would handle the money without raising red flags for the IRS, the police and most of all the gang bangers. I even plan how I would do it without anyone knowing. sometimes I think about how I would act like I started a business and was actually successful. There is a lot of things to think about when you get money like that. You can't just deposit a bag full of 100 dollar bills, or can you. I also think about how I was far enough away when I found the money that the gang guys can't find me. I don't buy real nice stuff and flaunt it so they won't be suspicious. Sometimes I drive by and see them searching the neighborhood and questioning people. Scary huh? Oh, the other two bags, one is full of cocaine and the other is full of 80mg Oxycontin. I already know where I would hide the OC's. If I run out of money I would sell them and get rich that way. remember this is kind of a dream thing. In most of the dreams I flush the cocaine. sometimes I hide it with the OC's. I never take any of either.
Am I sick or what. That is what I have to think about to get to sleep. I have lot's of other little situations I use. If you are interested let me know and I will tell you some more of them. I do know that it probably isn't healthy but it is survival. I usually try to stick to sports, it's just more fun.
to all those reading this, remember, this is just between us. Especially if you think this is sick
peace.