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A Dignity Money Check

There is money enough for this. It is possible to give a check to each citizen with the necessary amount to survive with dignity. The Gross Domestic Product of my country is 200 000 Million EUR per year. We are about 12 Million citizens, diaspora included. In my crazy math, there’s more than enough money to give 1 Million EUR for each citizen!

Don’t get me wrong. I am not asking for this. All I’m saying is that even a poor country as mine has money enough to share. If governments, politicians and economists were smart, they wouldn’t be afraid of investing money on citizens. When survival and a minimal comfort are granted, citizens are creative and highly productive. They become motivated and inspired. Dignity boosts self-esteem, confidence and the development of skills.

The plague of unemployment and its consequent suffering and mental illnesses are easy to defeat. Give to each citizen a weekly dignity check. Money to end poverty. Move away the specter of fear.

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Job Search

I’ve been a primary school teacher for twenty years until my mind exploded with major depression and generalized anxiety disorder. While on medical discharge, I’ve tried to get mobility to some other job in the public service. In several interviews I was told to be the ideal candidate. Unfortunately, being my career distinct from the civil servant’s, I couldn’t get the jobs.

NunoNevesStore emerged from despair. People like my drawings and print on demand services seemed to me as a clever way of making money out of them. Now and then people buy from my Etsy shop items from almost all sections, but it will take a few years to get a significative income. No matter the recipes from the YouTube gurus, an online shop is a long marathon.

Therefore, I started to apply to all kinds of jobs I find myself capable of exerting. In the past two weeks I went to interviews to work in bread distribution, to be a worker in a Styrofoam factory, and to be a real estate consultant. Bread rejected me, Styrofoam is on hold, and tomorrow I start the real estate consultant training.

Will I ever sell a house?

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I Am Really Not Cut For This

I am fed up of calling attention. I hate trying to make money this way. I loathe social media and Internet dependency. No matter how hard I try, I am not a business person. I’m nothing but a storyteller in need for an income. My job got me crazy. My attempt to make my own business is getting me crazy. My job search gets nothing but silence and rejection.

But I am a damn good storyteller for damn good story audiences. I know what I’m cut for.

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2021

Vaccines. Covid out? Trump out! Masks, still. No gatherings, yet. Poverty and unemployment to be continued. Keeping on screwing the environment. Wars. Terrorism. Putin & Pals. Thugs as usual. Full speed China. Warp speed FOMO. Pandemic mental depression. Forced smile totalitarianism. Bullshit layering ad infinitum.

Nevertheless, it might be better than 2020.

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I Am Getting Greedy

“Greed is good”, said Gordon Gekko. The search for income is making me tolerant to barbarities like this. Unemployment ignites the devil in us. One doesn’t know whether to hate oneself for the incapability of getting a job or the greedy individual one is becoming. Not to mention the hatred for the stupidity of hating oneself.

All thoughts get focused on finding ways to make money. That is particularly frustrating when one does not have the vocation nor the talent for it. Being a responsible problem solver myself, I’m afraid of becoming a fanatic for pennies doomed for unsuccess. An idiotic clown full of bad ideas with the color of money.

This enlightening experience is not turning me into a better human being.

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I Can’t Sell A Damn Thing, And I’m Not Sure If I Want To

I’m really not good at this. Commerce is not my thing. The blog and the Etsy shop are only a desperate attempt to find an alternative to my soon to be abandoned job. I’ve been doing my best to leave in style, that is, without a gap between sources of income, but that is not going to happen. People like my stuff but only very few actually buy items. I find joy when people appreciate my designs and writings, but appreciation is not enough to make a living.

My job prospection feverishly continues with no results to date. Things were already bad before the pandemic. This is not unexpected. I held the fantasy of creating my own job, either through the Etsy shop, this blog or the freelance platforms. Nothing seems to work. I’ve been spending all my energies on becoming a commercial asset at the expend of creativity, but the sacrifice is useless. I now realize more clearly how ancient this effort is and to what extent it stole my life from me. It is at least as old as my professional career, which I intended to leave as soon as I would find myself able to survive as an author.

Things would have been much easier if my professional occupation was not such a violent and weary one. I had the naivete of believing that my love for learning and explaining as well as the importance I give to education would make me an inspiring teacher. I had my moments of success, among peers, students and parents, and some of the utmost dread. In time I reached to the point of burning out. I am totally uncapable of getting back to the classroom, no matter how I hold children in my heart. It is just too much for me. I gave my best until nothing is left.

All I want is a quiet job that doesn’t make me think too much and with enough wage too pay my bills. I’ve been applying for jobs such as warehouse operator, picking and delivery operator, supermarket operator, distribution driver, shop assistant and what not. Refusals succeed, but I still have hope.

I have this tendency to share my thoughts to the public as if they have some interest or value to others. I display my life craving for love. This vanity or personality cult is an awful thing, a weakness still out of my control. Advertising about my shop and blogging to attract potential buyers only make it worse. You have no idea of how much I long for the quiet simple job and the return to my cocoon of creativity, out of worries around commercial success and artistic recognition.

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Pandeconomics

People are dying. People are fired. People are broke. People are numbers.

The first sentence refers to the pandemic. The other three are day-to-day economics, now stressed by the first one.

I am neither an economist, a capitalist, a communist, a business manager or an union delegate. Therefore I cherished the dream of this intensification of the last three sentences forcing a change to the paradigm of global economy. Reality has another agenda.

On TV the other day an expert said businesses must be competitive or fall. Small and big business managers said there is no margin for a raise on minimum wages. Sacking is mainstream and governments shrug beatifically while giving sermons on not having illusions. The vision on unemployment keeps the same. Are jobs lacking? Too bad. Life goes on to the employed. The others are cast to get in line for social welfare whilst business managers refuse to both paying taxes and keeping jobs. The reason? Businesses must be competitive.

How many businesses are based on offshores and export their job vacancies? How many business headquarters are nothing but post office boxes? How many workers are enslaved on countries with no human rights? Why are these numbers seldom told or not told at all?

Politicians and business managers make haste to discredit such questions by labeling them as extremist, radical and demagogical. The pandemic will not end this. When catastrophe occurs, people in power do not come to their senses. They will only increase their efforts to maintain power.

Pandeconomics means the stressing of people being fired and getting blamed for not working. They will continue to be labelled as parasites by the ones who fired them so that taxes for social welfare are cut. Social classes become only three. Bosses, workers and unemployed. In other words, extremely rich, survivors and extremely poor.

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The Most Stupid Question

“WHY DID YOU CHOOSE TO WORK WITH US?”

Because I’m unemployed, for Christ’s sake! I applied for this job and dozens of others! I need the money! I am capable of managing the bloody tasks you’re offering! I have the God damn hard and soft skills! I am clean and look good! I have the freaking initiative and the all sunshine smile on my face! I’m a badass! I am fast, competent, rigorous, eclectic and whatever the trending skills are! I am sincere and don’t kiss ass! I am the king of both competition and cooperation, choose the one that suits you best for each occasion! I am a moderately radical traditional innovative modern conservative liberal!

I did not choose. Behind propaganda, the choice is all yours.

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Fog

landscape photography of road

Familiar places disappear. You can only see fractions and hope they will guide your path, along with past experience. Memories. Things are radically different when you cross new territory in a foggy day. No guide whatsoever except common sense. You just keep moving forward, taking decisions with hints instead of references.

Such is my life now.

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Out Of The Frying Pan And Into The Fire

fire hot flame hell

As the days pass by the more I feel the boiling oil and the flames I’ll jump into. I am doing my best to remain cool at hellish temperatures. I try to remember myself how lucky I have been and the astonishing number of people who are living the hell I am plunging into, in a much more painful way that I will ever live. I have no responsibilities, no one to take care for.

I have never been unemployed nor had a minimum wage job. I also never have been a freelancer nor a shop owner before, not to mention blogging for pennies. I would really like to be the boss of myself, in a way that income would only depend of my hard work. If only I knew what to provide to people! Though my work is appreciated, it is not vital. What I’ve been doing so far has not being needed.

Perhaps, as I’ve mentioned in other posts, the need for a commodity is only a matter of branding. Something might be wrong on my approach, maybe I’m being to hasty on my expectations, who knows? I only hope to endure the flames.