Doughnuts.
The doughnuts had failed to de-escalate the situation. She was still furious, pacing up and down up and down the hall way.
She rattled her fingers on the kitchen bench and stared out the window into the garden. 3pm, it was getting dark. A cold, dank day in January. Had it all been for nothing? Had she up turned her life for absolutely nothing?
Her anger turned to silent tears, rolling down her blushed cheeks. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. A career in tatters and self esteem obliterated but there’s nobody that will understand.
She feels less because she doesn’t necessarily want to work again, but the social pressures of having your self worth attached to a job make it impossible for her to really entertain that idea.
The sweet smell of the doughnuts are headache inducing and they get slammed into the bin.
She recounts how many people have asked “how do you keep you days busy?” or “you need a reason to get up in the morning, something to give you purpose”.
Were all these people really saying to her face that she has no purpose, no reason to live, no self worth because she doesn’t have a job?
“How fucking dare they” she whispers under her breath.
It’s another day of job rejections, waiting for promised phone calls from recruiters and HR managers. Another day, just like the other 566 that have already gone by.