Hmmmm, Okay.

I'm irritated.

I'm searching for jobs. It's already degrading. I don't need any more bullsh*t judgmental looks from employees when I hand in my applications.

Just now, I turned in an app to a music store, and I waited around forever to talk to someone; passing the time by browsing through severely incorrect hack-job transcriptions of Tori Amos songs and whathaveyou.

The 50ish dude at the counter says, "Can I help you?"

I respond, "Yes, I picked this up and filled this out the other day."

"Oh," he says, with a look trying to disguise his thoughts of, "Are you kidding me? You're not seriously applying here, are you?" before finishing with, "I'll get this into the hands of the Powers That Be."

"Thank you very much!" I said, cheerfully.

I'm wearing nice clothes. I'm cleanshaven. My piercings are tasteful. I work hard. I have the talent to do a multitude of things. Being poor and jobless is wearing me pretty damn thin already Mr. Incredulous Face. Maybe you could put yourself in my shoes, and empathize a little bit instead of being suspicious of my desire to work in your sissy little music store?

Okay, I must get back to work. Perhaps I'll find somewhere more hip to waste my energy on.

Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuce!

Last night, Katrina brought up how some males are "physical" with their expression of anger or frustration. I am not, in the sense that I don't bang walls or hit countertops or kick defenseless animals. But talk to my Yamaha P60, and it will tell you that when I feel helpless, or sad, or frustrated, or angry...I pray, and I talk about it with Katrina..and then I pound out Bruce Hornsby solos until I feel better.

And it doesn't take long!

Although my piano is a little worse for the wear when I'm done.