I'll just say at the start, my therapist was right: when you're feeling frustrated with something or someone, write it all out in a letter as if you were going to send it, and then burn it. Or, it's like PostSecret. Put your secret on a postcard and set it free by mailing it to Frank Warren.
I spent a good hour and a half last night writing about the travails, trials, and tribulations of looking for a job. I titled it "Finding a Job is Haaaaaard..." and opened with a warning that whining was about to ensue.
I wrote prose about why I came to Washington, D.C. (it wasn't as noble as you might think) and how I've repeatedly struck out in this town from a work standpoint.
I bemoaned the fact that I want, want, want to get back into publishing, but I'm running up against roadblocks as I interview. I have all the skills and learning curve to work in the field, but the publishers and editors are looking for folks with industry knowledge and that's where I fall down. (Although, it's also the irony, because I'm a quick learner and can grasp concepts and ideas rapidly.)
All that to say, I wrote it all out and now, 24 hours later, I'm not going to post it. I'm electronically balling it up and tossing it in the round file. It felt good to write it, but I'm not sure it will get me ahead in today's "I Googled You" world. In the end, I'm still looking for work.
Finding a job IS hard, but I'm confident I'll be employed again soon.