I took my bass down to a street corner and played bass riffs, hoping to collect some coins from the passers-by. One of them offered me a dollar to stop and a wino with a cardboard sign told me to get off "his" corner. I just can't get any respect. I feel rejected, dejected and ejected.
I should count my blessings. Unlike poor little Neda Soltan, I still draw breath. There are worse things than having to face difficult problems...like not having to face difficult problems because you are dead. I don't have to live in a place like Iran (not yet anyway). I'm still on the right side of the grass.
Tomorrow I will send out some more resumes, looking for temporary and contract work, even though it seems hopeless. But you know, I am just too damned mean and onery to quit. So when despair knocks on my door, I will open the door -- and kick despair right in the nuts.