I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Monday, October 20, 2025. 

It’s cold here tonight, in Maine.  We got the first real rain we’ve gotten since June today.  It was perfect napping weather.   Which explains my 2+ hour nap this afternoon.  

This is the first time I’ve written in at least four months.  It’s hard to be creative when you are depressed.  

Depressed you say?  Why should you be depressed?  

Well on June 19^th, I was laid off from my job.  It was not a surprise.  Nor was I disappointed when it happened.  It had been kind of a shit show for a while, for various reasons.  

That being said, yesterday marked four months of being unemployed, and I’m still looking for a job.  The job market in Maine is just as soft as it is in the rest of the country.  The job market for restaurant jobs, is even softer.  It’s been a quiet summer for restaurants seeking management.  

I do have to say it’s been one of the best summers of my time in Maine.  When you work in hospitality in Maine in the summer, you do not socialize. You do not see your friends.  You work a million hours and then sleep when you can.  

I was at a gathering for a birthday for a friend about a month ago and someone said, I’m sorry you don’t have a job, but it’s been awesome seeing you this summer.  I’ve attended birthday parties.  4^th of July parties.  Pool parties.  I’ve gone to plays.  I’ve had drinks with friends, I haven’t seen in years.  I’ve had dinner on Saturday nights at 7:00, on a patio in Portland.  It really has been nice to see all my friends more in the past four months than I have in years.  

That being said, the bank account is dwindling.  The need to find a job is ever present.  This underlying depression encompasses me every day.  

Find a job.  Find a job.  Find a job.  

I sometimes wonder if my age is working against me.  I’ve read half a dozen articles about entering the work force after 50 this summer.  I conveniently leave off the year I graduated from college.  Whoops a typo.  

Portland and its metro area is a small market.  There are a million jobs making 18 bucks an hour.   When you start to move up the food chain there are far less.  

I have been hesitant to write about this since it happened, because well it’s embarrassing to be unemployed.  It’s easier to hide in bed and pretend that everything is okay.  

Which it’s not.  

Adam has encouraged me to spend more time on my computer.  Looking for jobs.  Writing.  Not napping.  

So here I am.  

It’s so weird to be starting over.  Again.  At 60.  But that’s the cards I was dealt.  

Meanwhile, my amazing, and growing less patient, boyfriend is in the kitchen making us dinner.  I’m writing for the first time in 4 months.  

I’ll keep you posted as things move forward.