Rock Bottom

I’m sitting here at the kitchen table, drinking coffee that tastes like regret and poor life choices.

Not the good kind of regret either — not the “remember that Vegas weekend in 2014” kind.

I mean the “forgot to buy creamer, used almond milk from 2023, and now my tongue’s rethinking its career” kind.

It’s the kind of coffee that humbles you. Reminds you you’re not as put-together as your LinkedIn profile implies.

The kind that makes you stare out the window like you’re in a low-budget indie film about a man rethinking every decision that led him to this exact mug of sadness.

And I’m not saying this coffee is a direct reflection of my life right now… but if it were a metaphor?

It would be spot on.

See, I’ve hit that phase of job searching where my email notifications feel like jump scares. Where I start twitching when I see the words “Thank you for applying.”

Like bro… just say no. Don’t make me click three times and log into your portal of disappointment.

I applied for a job last week that said “entry level” but required “10 years of experience, a PhD in Telepathy, and a willingness to relocate to Neptune if needed.”

I thought I was being bold by applying anyway.

Apparently boldness gets you ghosted now. Who knew?

So here I am. At the table.

Wearing yesterday’s hoodie. Or maybe the day before’s — time is blurry.

There’s a half-eaten granola bar on my résumé.

The dog keeps judging me.

I tried to manifest success this morning but my affirmation app crashed. Said it “needed a break.” SAME.

And then there’s this coffee. Bitter. Burnt. Emotionally distant.

Like it too has given up on my potential.

But you know what?

There’s something beautiful about mornings like this.

Because once you hit rock bottom taste buds, the only way is up.

So I chugged it. All of it.

I let it burn my soul clean.

And I said to myself — out loud, like a man who’s slowly unraveling but still holding the line:

“This is not how the story ends.”

Because if I can survive this mug,

If I can swallow this crime against caffeine,

If I can write cover letters that feel like love notes to companies that won’t call me back…

Then I can definitely make it through the rest of the day.

So here’s to the coffee that tastes like rejection.

To the job hunts that turn into soul quests.

To the ones who haven’t given up — even if the espresso machine has.

We keep going. We keep laughing. We keep hitting “Apply Now” like it owes us money.

Because one day soon, someone’s going to hire us…

And we’re going to celebrate with a cup of coffee that doesn’t taste like a midlife crisis in liquid form.

But until then?

Cheers to rock-bottom brews and unemployed resilience.

Let’s go.