Raining

So I’m sitting here at the kitchen table, staring out the window like I’m in the closing scene of a soap opera called “Days of Our Unemployment.”

It’s raining.

Not the cute, aesthetic rain you see in Hallmark movies where someone runs through it into the arms of a second-chance lover named Greg.

No. This is the kind of rain where the sky looks unemployed too.

Even God seems like He’s taking a personal day.

And here I am—surrounded by empty coffee mugs, a half-eaten granola bar, and four versions of my résumé that all scream: “Pick me, I’m emotionally available and proficient in Excel!”

My inbox? A graveyard.

Every “We’ve decided to move forward” email feels like a passive-aggressive breakup text from someone I only went on one Zoom date with.

I keep refreshing LinkedIn like it’s a dating app for employment.

Scroll. Sigh. Scroll. “Is this a real job or a test from the universe?”

Somewhere between ‘Director of Cultural Synergy’ and ‘Entry-Level Jedi with 10 Years Experience,’ I blacked out and ended up reading articles like “Top 12 Interview Questions to Ask Your Dog Walker.”

Meanwhile, the rain is out there doing its thing.

So productive. So confident.

Falling with purpose. Landing with conviction.

And I’m over here trying to figure out if I can list “survived another rejection email without crying in public” as a transferable skill.

I check my phone.

No missed calls. No texts.

Just a notification that says, “Your weekly screen time was up 37%.”

Yeah, Karen. I know. I live on my screen now. It’s where all my hope and self-worth reside.

And then it hits me: I haven’t moved in hours.

I’ve become part of the chair.

I’ve fused with the IKEA.

Somewhere in the background, the fridge hums like it’s judging me.

“Still unemployed, huh?” it seems to whisper every time I open it like a hopeful raccoon.

I sip my 3-hour-old coffee and consider rebranding.

Maybe I don’t need a job. Maybe I just need a podcast called “Still Pending,” where every episode is just me reading job descriptions dramatically like a Shakespearean tragedy.

“Must be a self-starter with excellent communication skills.”

Cue organ music and thunder.

But you know what? Even as the rain pours, even as my résumé gets rejected by bots who can’t spell my name—I’m still here.

Still applying. Still laughing. Still showing up.

Because deep down, I know this storm? It’s just a plot device.

The dramatic tension before the breakthrough.

The part of the movie where the hero has no idea what’s coming next… but keeps going anyway.

So here I sit.

At my kitchen table.

With the rain, the résumés, and the last shred of optimism that hasn’t asked for severance yet.

And when it clears?

I’ll be ready.

Hopefully employed.

And slightly less caffeinated.