Memories...

Light the corners of my mind; misty water-colored memories of the way we were. Scattered pictures...This a Barbara Streisand song called "The Way We Were" about how things used to be and those memories we cling to. Memories - we're full of memories, more we could ever imagine and yet still longing to recall the ones we fully can't. Some so vivid and bold they seem to have happened yesterday. Others we desperately cling to the muddle memories deep within our minds. Of those, with our parents' help, they bridge those memories and clearly put all of it together to make sense. With the help of my mother, she put together the full canvas in a period of my life and the earliest recollection I have as a child.

My mother used to take the bus to get places since she didn't have a car. It was there she said I contracted tuberculosis from someone on the bus. The whole family had to be quarantined to make sure no one else had the disease, and it turned out I was the only one. Now, none of this I recalled as a ripe toddler of two at the time, but I do remember other things of that ordeal. I do recall having to go get checked out and getting x-rays to see if I had it. Once they knew, it elevated to shots, x-rays, pills, and a hospital stay. Now, most kids that I know at this age were terrified of needles, doctors, hospitals, and of giant twisted metal that seemed like some cyborg coming to get you so it can put invisible rays in your body. When they would take my chest x-ray I remember my tiny chest on the coldness of the machine, standing there in my undies, the nurse and technician applauding my bravery for being so cooperative and still encouraging me to look at the stuffed toy monkey on top of it and telling me not to move. They would say "Take a deep breath, now hold it.", then telling me to release after the whirring sounds of the machine did its job. Afterward, I would put the little gown they gave me back on and go back to my room for more treatment. When it came time to take my shots they tried to bribe me with candy hoping I wouldn't cry, but I was never afraid of needles or shots and never cried getting one. From their surprise, they would award me two lollipops instead of one. Through it all, I had a calmness that surprised everyone there for being such a young age. Eventually, I was sent to the hospital for treatment and stayed for two weeks - it was probably longer but it felt like two. My room was on the sixth floor and the bed next to the window like they were joined at the hip. At night I could literally look out of the window all the way down to the ground and imagined seeing a large mysterious face in the dark night, scaring myself into covering my head with the bedsheets and wishing to go to sleep as quick as possible so that my little mind would stop torturing me. My favorite memory though was having breakfast with a very kind nurse as she would watch cartoons in my room every morning with me. I don't recall her name but remembered her blonde hair and a pretty smile.

When it was time to leave, my mother gathers what things I had and a nice going away gift a metal Tonka toy truck - I said my goodbyes and surprisingly was never traumatized by this and actually had pleasant memories of it all. For the next two years I would regularly go back for x-rays to make sure it wasn't active anymore and taking horse pill-sized medicine that I had no trouble of swallowing whole, nor did I fuss about taking them either.

Other memories - not mine but my mother's memories of me and how I was as a small child shows that we develop our personality at a very young age - infused by our DNA of what we are going to be - our likes and dislikes that mold us into our future selves. She told me when I couldn't yet talk, I would crawl to the TV and then stand up holding on to it whenever there was music on the television and try to mouth as if I was singing. She said I wasn't even a year old yet and every time I did that she said my father thought something was wrong with me. I grew up loving music and singing and didn't have a shy bone in my body when the music came on. Also when I was two years of age, she said I would sleepwalk into the kitchen, take out a bowl and place it on the table along with dry and wet ingredients and mix everything up together. Now according to her, she would wake up in the morning to see I left all the evidence on the table and all over myself and the bed when she came to check on us in the morning. There I was sound asleep covered in flour, sugar, milk, and whatever else I mixed. Now it didn't portend that I would become a chef, but I do love to cook.

Well, that's the earliest memory that I ever recall as a child, and looking back it was the simplistic everyday happenings that stay in my memories and the ones that I cherish the most. Time spent with my family is what brought me the most joy. Some of them were disturbing, upsetting, frightening, while others were hilarious, sorrowful, reflective, and some were delightful leaving me content and peaceful. Next time I'll share some of those memories and exactly how my mother and father met.

A worm's eye view

Parents; we admire them, at times we fear them - I feared one parent exceedingly more than the other; we delight in our parents, and sometimes we even despise them. Through it all; we always loved them, even when we felt they didn't deserve our love.

My father seemed larger than life to me when I was young; though in real life he was only five foot eight, it felt like he towered over us, his demeanor dominated even more so - its presence always took our attention regardless of what we were doing at the time. He came across like some superhuman being - with powers I clearly didn't understand at the time or probably just suffering from a wild imagination - regardless it felt real to me. Being an ex-Marine had a vast effect on his personality which made him a very strict and demanding father, not in a way of WHAT he wanted us to be in life, but HOW he wanted us to be in life. He hated insubordination to him or my mother - like most soldiers who were regimented, he also hated us to be late for anything; waking up, getting ready for school, eating breakfast, eating lunch, eating supper, taking our baths, homework, cleaning our rooms, coming inside, going to sleep, or going anywhere outside the home. He HATED being late for anything. At the same time apart from his military makeup - he had a surprising and quite endearing quality of being spontaneous at the most inopportune times - coming home and waking us up from a night of deep and satisfying sleep to tell us to get our clothes on and get ready to go to Galveston, or Texas City, or even to our aunt Licha's (her name was Alice, but we never called her by that) house to visit. It was something we never complained about though my mother would beg him at times to be more reasonable. It was one of his attributes I certainly duplicated in my life. But there were other times I just absolutely despised my father - something I just didn't think I could do since I never really hated anyone, much less my parents but this was as close I would get in doing so. And I didn't hate HIM so much, but what he DID - I would be so confused as he developed a Jekyll and Hyde personality that came without warning and we all dreaded it when he transformed. We would be the object of his wrath, us, and our mother, but mostly our mother, and we were helpless when it happened. It was like a bad dream that we were living in real-time and it was one we couldn't wake up from and just has to suffer from seeing our mother suffer or eventually us. But my mother was strong.

My mother was a small woman in stature (five-foot-two), but her identity was strong, pillar-like, immovable, and determined. She was the glue that kept our family together and I'm sure most people reading this would agree that most mothers are the glue that keeps the family together. I don't know how she did it; she had six children - five of us by the time she was twenty-six years old. My mother and father were thirteen years apart when they met; she was eighteen and he was thirty-one. She had her first three children; me, my oldest brother, and my brother after me within less than 24 months of each other. My oldest brother was born in March of 65', myself 10 months later in January, and our third sibling 11 months later in December of that same year in 66'. Afterward, she had her only daughter three years later, then the fourth son another three years later, and the last son six years later. Five boys and one girl, not what my mother wanted since she wanted at least one more girl and that's why she had another two more kids before calling it quits medically since they tied her tubes. By the way, all of our names start with "M", including my father. Her name was Santa - yes that's like the Claus dude but she's real. Her full name was Santa Maria Inez Cruz - then, Santa Maria Inez Cruz Garcia after marrying. Most Mexican children usually take on the mother's maiden name as their middle name so all of us boys have "Cruz" as our middle name. Our sister bucked the tradition having the middle name "Yvette" - and she wanted her second daughter's middle to be Yvonne, but that never transpired. So initially, she wanted the boys to be MCG (Mark, Michael, Martin, Malcolm, and Malachi) and the girls to be MYG, (Melissa Yvette Garcia and Michelle Yvonne Garcia), funny on how and why parents determine how we get named. She seemed ethereal to me, so loving, patient, kind, warm, honorable, forgiving, faithful, honest, and spiritual. There were times she did expose her bad side, but to me, it was always warranted - and she made sure we understood why even when she went berserk the few times she did - like I said, it was always warranted - we were pretty bad at times. She was the one that really taught us about life and how to be a decent person and eventually a decent man. My father did teach us respect, hard work, not to fight, and honesty as well, but she did most of the work by example. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be the person I am today.

So you can see, parents have a deep impactful effect on their children, sometimes to our detriment suffering the rest of our lives for it; bad choices, addiction problems, violent, lazy, entitled, ungrateful and at the same time the effect is so powerful we make a determination we NEVER want to be that part of our parents' personality. Other times we see the good in them and hope to aspire to be like them in every virtuous and decent way. My personality is definitely part of both parents, the good and the bad. The bad I've just about stamped out, though at times there are sparks I have to make sure that doesn't become flames ever again. We're always a work in progress, so that goes without saying. 

Growing up with 6 children and a father who's an ex-Marine, a keep it all together very spiritual mother who basically had to raise those six kids because my father wasn't there physically or emotionally, except the few times when he had to discipline us - something so traumatizing we'd never forget - and my mother maintaining a fine balance keeping my father happy, all of us occupied, and her sanity intact. Until next time.

Quarantined, but not my thoughts

Being alone to yourself affords the opportunity, or should I say renders our emotions, some that we struggle with and others we fondly remember. I've had a head start with my isolation and my thoughts as I was forced to stay inside due to an accident back in September of 2018. With my head, neck, and spine injuries I really didn't have many opportunities to do anything expect labor in pain. I still deal with it and it's a very slow recovery, but most of these problems remain.

For the times I've been able to think clearly I've recounted many memories and how the influence of our parents shapes us - sometimes in a positive way and others in a negative. I can say outright, for the most part, I'm proud of my parents - not to say they didn't have their faults; one more so than the other, but when it was all said and done, in the end, they both made me proud that I'm their child. No matter how hard we try though, we are reflections of our parents and those things are what I reflect on now. Though my parents are gone, I carry their likeness; spirited, sinful, regretful, wishful, benevolent, apprehensive, loving, but always ready to learn and grow; willing to become a more whole version of them both.

So I will expound on how they shaped my life and the life of my siblings as often as I can, just bear with me as I'm still dealing with my injuries.

My father was an ex-Marine and in the Korean war for a short time; he was discharged but for the life of me I can't remember why. I'm sure being a Marine and being in the war shaped his outlook on life and how he valued it, though I would have to say his upbringing was even more traumatic. Being a Marine definitely made him hide his emotions and become a very strict father - the opposite of what his father was and it made us fear him greatly - though he did have his playful and reflective moments with us as children growing up.

The one thing I'll say for the moment his childhood years were wrought with difficulty and sadly at the hands of his grandmother on his mother's side. As a kid, he grew up on the farm and in the summertime, he picked cotton in the fields - very hard work. He was born in a small farming town of Simonton, Texas, about 40 or so miles Southwest of Houston, Texas. As he would tell it, from picking cotton all day his fingers would be all cut and bloody from the hard husks of the cotton, sore and tired and then would be punished by a grandmother who didn't like him because he was very dark-skinned. In fact, his grandmother would call him the equivalent of the "n" word but in Spanish; she called him her "little n" to be exact because he was so dark. This infuriated him to no end and he ended up hating her because of it. His sense of justice sparked him to retaliate quite frequently despite being on the losing end every time. One day already angered by the maltreatment by her, he decided to make her pay indirectly by disobeying her as he was told to take some water out to his Tios to drink (uncles in English) in the fields. Well, he was going to show her as soon he was out of her eyesight - they had acres of land and he had to cross a creek to get the water to his uncles. Well, before he arrived he dumped the water out and then made up a story as to why it was empty. Once word got back to his grandmother she punished him by making him sleep outside without any food to eat - his younger sister sneaking tortillas in her underwear so he wouldn't go hungry.
His father and mother eventually would move to Houston still a young boy though I don't recall how old he was, I do recall he had to quit the 6th grade to help his parents financially. At the age of fourteen, he helped physically build the house on the property they bought in Houston. He came from a family of seven children, (though he had half brothers and sisters from a prior and later marriage) being the third in line, and for some reason ended up being the most responsible out of his siblings and the one whom his father loved most. He told us he loved boxing growing up as a kid -  so much so when an adult he had a tattoo made of a baby with boxing gloves and a lock of hair on top of its head with the above inscription of "Chino". My father was Mexican American and I'm sure something else, but he never told us or maybe I just don't remember. Of course, we had to ask what "Chino" meant even though we are Hispanic my parents never taught us Spanish (I'll tell you later why) and he said they called him "Chino" because when he was young he had curly hair.

Well anyway, back to his time in the Marines. He used to tell us that while in training they would have them swim with all their gear on their backs for strength and stamina; sadly he said a few died drowning, not having the strength to stay above the water with all that on them. He said the sergeants would get their minds ready for combat and how to view the enemy. They would chant: "What is an ambush? Killing! What is killing?! Killing is fun!" They would repeat that over and over until it was etched in their minds. Also, when someone was out of line, they would punish the whole troop and told us of two ways I guess he hated most; one way was they would make them hold out their arms straight out and then would place their rifles on the tips of their fingers and they had to hold it for many long grueling minutes - which was extremely hard and painful to do. Another way was they would make them put on all their gear and "duck walk" for miles. Other than that, he rarely spoke about the war - he didn't like to. He did say how cold the Korean winters were as they were in tents and had to wash their face in freezing water with temperatures at -15 below zero and how one of the soldiers gave up his life by jumping on top of a grenade, saving him and others. But other than that, he didn't say much about the war, though he did have a few pictures of him at the barracks and a couple with his troop that my mother kept.

My mother's life was even more fascinating - at least it was to me. Just to give you an idea but not all the detail; the state took her from her mother at the age of eight, she wanted to be a nun, grew up in a home in Waco and forgot how to speak Spanish, loved sewing and created a stitch that is used all over the world (the teacher stole it from her and sold her creation), her father was a rich man but she never got a cent. Well, I hope all of you are doing as well as can be expected during this trying time. As my mother always used to tell me and it's become part of my personality - "Don't worry about things you can't control." - so don't worry, this will pass and things will get better. Until next time.

An Experience of Futility

No this is not an experiment; I hope no one would ever consider of doing one like this. No, this is an experience in futility and unfortunately so because of the way this system is run. Being in the work environment for 36 years I've only had to use government assistance before now, only a few times - getting unemployment until I found another job. But this has been a whole different experience and a very frustrating one at that. I know there are laws and stipulations to qualify for government assistance and unfortunately, I found out I didn't qualify for a lot - and that surprised me.

I've never experienced frustration as much as this, and this journey is still ongoing. I was in a car accident on my way to work on September 28th, 2018. As I was waiting for the light to change, I was violently hit from behind starting a nightmare of denials and of pain, frustration, and futility. Being I've put in my time and given a whole lot of my money to the government you think these programs would be available for someone like me, but you would be wrong.

Initially, I applied for unemployment since I qualified, or so I thought. Being I couldn't work because of a brain injury, I found out I didn't qualify for unemployment. Strike one.
Since I didn't have any money coming in, I tried to get help from the Uncle and tried to get cash assistance, food stamps, and rent assistance. Can you guess what happened? Yeah, I was denied. Strike two. I would think my wife being on disability would be a good thing, but it wasn't. They applied her income and because of it, I was denied. I didn't give up though.

If I remember correctly, our income was over 12-14 dollars which is what didn't qualify me. So, I didn't qualify for Medicaid, so I tried for the Marketplace, you guessed it, I didn't qualify. I fell in between the infernal regions of financial assistance. So, back to the drawing board; by the way, has anyone out there gone through this?

I reapplied again, they called me and asked if there were any other bills we are paying and we did so I qualified for...wait for it...food stamps. Whomp wah. Can you guess how much? I read that the government feels that 3 dollars a day are enough to live on, but apparently, that's too much for my wife and me.
By their standards or whatever their qualification is for us, they feel we can live on a dollar a day, so times that by 2 for a month and you get our total.

Not qualifying for medical insurance, I didn't know what I was going to do. I learned that my car insurance would cover a portion of my medical bills, but that evaporated about as quickly as a drop of water in the desert. I applied for a free clinic, but again I didn't qualify for assistance, I came back and reapplied and taking in to account that additional bill we pay - I qualified but I would have to pay 20 percent, but I couldn't since I don't have money coming in - so that was a moot point.

I haven't worked for almost ten months and dealing with post-concussion syndrome, occipital neuralgia, dizziness, spasms in my face, behind my eyes, in my jaw and throat,  head pain, nerve pain in my neck, lower back, arms, hands, and drainage in my right ear, and sometimes left. Some days are worse than others with no rhyme and reason., this is a very, very frustrating experience.

Finally, I tried for financial assistance with LVHN - a hospital in Allentown and I qualified and would only have to pay 10 percent on my part. So I saw a neurologist, which he has been helpful, but as would guess, I ran into more problems. The doctor tried to get me to do some rehab for my concussion and get some shots to relieve my head pain and spasms, but FA said I didn't qualify since this has to do with my accident and so they could not treat me for those problems while my case is in litigation. Why do they make everything so hard? So, I'm back to square one again. My neurologist is trying to do all he can to see me despite FA not wanting to treat me - so I'm thankful for that.

I know you're asking yourself, why haven't you applied for disability? Can you guess? I did, but I was denied. Strike three. I've gotten a lawyer for that as well, but not sure if I will get approved the second time around, though the law firm said I would more than likely be approved. But at this point, I'm not holding my breath on anything.

I have a lawyer trying to get me a settlement from the car accident, but with all these denials, it's taking a long time to be able to see a doctor that I qualify for and then it's even taking longer because there is a long wait list. For the neurologist, I had to wait until March of this year to see him even though I tried to get an appointment last year in November. For my appointment to see about possible nerve damage in my neck, lower back and arms, I won't be able to see anyone until March of 2020! That's the earliest they could give me. So you can see why I sometimes feel this is futile. I worry about being denied the disability, I worry that it's taking so long to see doctors, I won't get the settlement I deserve, I worry because I feel I won't get the treatment I need and will suffer for the rest of my life and will have to find work and I don't know if I can really keep a job.

But you know what really frustrates me? The way this government is set up, why all the red tape, why do they make it so hard for a born citizen to qualify when I see those illegal citizens, get homes, jobs, food, money, and health care that I've worked hard for all my life and can't get, in two and threefold efforts? Talk about an experience in futility.

I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up

It's a popular saying from a certain commercial portraying feeble and frail people who've taken a tumble and can't get up. Fortunately for them, they have a device hanging around their necks they can conveniently press so they can get the help they need. Well, that's the metaphor of I've found myself in, but unlike them; I have no device that's a beacon of comfort, relief, or assistance of any kind.

For me, it's more like I've fallen through the cracks and have become oblivious to the outside world and the bureaucratic agencies that are supposed to lend a hand when in need. Well, I've found out they are all just an apparatus of futility and frustration.

You see, I was involved in a car accident; getting hit from behind while stopped at a red light - minding my own business trying to stay afloat in this rat race in route to work. Well, from that one incident my life has been turned upside down on a sinking ship with a small pocket of air - we all know that you only have so much oxygen left before you succumb. Well, that "pocket of air" I thought I had are these agencies that supposedly help you in your time of need. I mean, I've paid my taxes for these departments of inefficiencies - I mean of support - that you go to for such circumstances that I've found myself in. So I lose the car, lose the job, apply for unemployment since I qualify - wait, I don't qualify, I mean I did but don't anymore. You see if you get injured and can't work then you don't qualify for unemployment. So I try to get help from these other agencies, but guess what? You guess it, I don't qualify. I don't have any money coming in but because my wife who suffers from a genetic disorder gets a disability check, means I no longer qualify for assistance.

My air, it's getting thinner...gasp! Believe me, I tried everything possible that the government has for such assistance for people like me, but every turn I get denied. Denied for unemployment, denied for Medicaid, denied for the Affordable Care Act, denied for Cash Assistance and denied for EBT(food stamps). Well, I was able to get some EBT  and I say some since it's barely enough for a week and it's supposed to be for a month. I had to go show them that they themselves denied my unemployment, but only after calling them three times and going to their office twice - so efficient they are...insert sarcasm.

My pocket of air is shrinking every day and like I've said I've fallen but can't get up; not because I'm just a lazy don't want to do nothing, freeloader looking for handouts from the government, no it's because I'm not those things I can't seem to get anything. I looked online to see how people qualify and this system makes it so hard for hard, honest, working people who go through unfortunate events. They'll help you though if you have a drug addiction, or in abject poverty, or an illegal alien in need of help. But for me who has a brain injury and did everything right - somehow I get it wrong.

I've tried to see if I can get disability like my wife but the wheels of government move so very s-l-o-w. I applied but I won't get considered for another 5 months since that's how backed up they are - at least that's what I was told at the SS office. I'm sure they will initially deny me as well. As for a settlement, that won't happen soon either since I won't be able to see a neurologist for my head injury until March and the accident occurred in September!

I'm not looking for handouts, but I'm at my wit's end. Shouldn't the government have some type of subsidy for people like me who fall through the cracks? Well, I guess I have to start selling my belongings on eBay again. Anyone would like to buy some classic Technics floor speakers in excellent condition?

I'll be laying down where I've fallen if you need or bother to find me. 😂😂😂

Weight...a minute!

Now with this new diet lifestyle, I've been able to lose weight steadily. Now we all love losing weight, but we hate the morning ritual that is the weight scale. Now, I don't know about you all, but I weigh myself in the morning to get the most accurate reading. After fasting for 16 hours my body is able to go through the processes it needs to assimilate those nutrients which allow the body to burn fat - all while I sleep!

So how do you go about weighing yourself in the morning? Without too many gory details I think it's best to do it after you go to the restroom and with the least clothing as possible, I mean you want to get good news, not bad! A good weigh in the morning is making sure you don't gain any. Do you accept the first weigh or do you weigh yourself multiple times to make sure it isn't a fluke? When you find you weigh less or the same it's always a good day, right? But when you don't what do you find as acceptable and what is an "Aww man, I don't get how that happened, my life is over with, I feel like going back to bed and the heck with this stuff I'm going to stuff my face now weigh!" Yeah, guys feel that way too - maybe just older guys - I'm just speaking for myself.

I feel if it's just a pound, cool beans. But if it's more, then my mind starts swirling like a worry vortex and I'm trying to understand what nefarious activity transpired to make me gain so much weight? Like did I eat too much-processed meats, junk food, sugar, drink too much alcohol (some people don't think that is possible - it's like can't drink enough), or sodas? Or is it just too much salt intake? Remember, I have fibro and candida, so sugars are not good for me. Please remember for me because I forget, haha. My mind does a bite by bite recall trying to see where I went wrong - or maybe it was obvious of not exercising today. But then I realize, I haven't been really exercising with this plan - so I guess it's my intake. So how do I counterbalance that by taking in less today or just make sure I WATCH what I eat?

Wives have a way of being a natural deterrent for things that we like to do but don't really give it any thought - that's what they're for - so they can tell us every 15 minutes so we make sure we get the point. Well, point well taken. It's not nagging but more of a persistent indicator. Filling your inbox (ears and brain) with constant email notifications (her constant reminders) of what we should NOT be eating. So, I weighed myself today and I was happy that I DIDN'T gain any weight. Of course, we want to make sure our joy is tempered since we don't want to be telling our wives of how much weight we're losing when they say they can't seem to lose the weight quick enough. So keep it to yourselves guys unless she asks, and if she does, please downplay it with a convincing vigor that will make her feel secure and at the same time praise you.

So, tomorrow I will do the same thing and hope I haven't gained anything so as not to lose hope of ever getting to my desired goal; to tie my shoes no matter what age I am.

When Temping is no longer temp

Temporary Agencies have changed the landscape of the work force. They started after World War II in 1947 with William Russell Kelly who founded Russell Kelly Office Service (later know as started Kelly Girl Services) in Detroit , with three employees, 12 customers and $848 in sales; today which is now known as Kelly Services. A year later, two lawyers, Aaron Scheinfeld and Elmer Winter, founded a similar outfit, Manpower Inc, in Milwaukee. By the way I give The NY Times credit for the above information in their article (The Rise of the Permanent Temp Economy) Apparently in the 80's this is where it really took off, but it really didn't have an impact on me back then.

As I remember the 80's you looked in the classified ads for work, call up the company, set an appointment and go in for a direct interview for the position. You would talk directly to the man or woman looking to hire you and go through the interview process and usually you'd get an answer within a day or so if you got the job or not. No middle man, no liaison, go between, or ever you want to call them - oh yeah they're called temporary agencies. Now they proliferate the work landscape and I understand why. Large Corporate America seems to love money more than a good employee. They can work you for a lower pay rate with no promise of nothing more than a weekly check and then thank you very much when your assignment is over. They don't have to worry about paying you for vacations, holidays, benefits, or match your 401K. 

Just a side note on this topic, but I noticed that in different states the agencies operated differently. In Texas, the state I'm from, the agencies would call you to come in and have you register with them. They would test your skills IE; typing speed and accuracy, your Office Suite knowledge, or Lotus for those that use it - and your filing skills among other things. After an interview of your past work history, where you see yourself in 5 years, what type of position and pay, you were set. They would call you and let you know about a job, what it entailed, the hours, pay, length of job (strictly temp, temp to hire, or direct hire) and you would say whether or not you wanted the position. If you did, then they'd tell you to meet so and so on Monday or whatever day they wanted you to start and that was it.

Since I moved to Pennsylvania the agency also does all that but then the company wants to ALSO go through the same interview process the agency does - which I find redundant, I don't know, am I the only one who feels this way? That's the job of the agency to do that, I mean, if you don't trust their skills - it IS what they do for a living - why in the world would you pay them all that money to vet a person to only go through the process again yourself? Again, doesn't that seem redundant? Either the person is going to work out or not; it's not like you have to keep them if they don't and all you have to do is call for another temp. I mean you can't find out what a person can do or what they're capable of just by talking to them again. You see how the perform - that's how you know if they are capable or not. Sorry just went off on a tangent. I'll get back to the main point.

So since moving to Pennsylvania I thought I would just be doing temporary work for maybe 6 months at the most and then find a permanent job and use my skills to move up the corporate ladder. But now it's been almost FOUR years and I'm still doing temporary work. It's really baffling since every job I've taken they always said they liked my work, was sad to seem me go, I was just a great worker, and blah, blah, blah, blah. That's what I was told by the company I was working for and by the agency. Yet, I'm still without a real job. Now what I want to know and please give me your input; is it just harder to find a job out here on the East Coast than it is in Texas?

I really thought temporary work was just that; temporary. Now I don't know what to think anymore - I'm not knocking temporary work - I like learning new things and meeting new people, but as a family man who is the only one able to work I need a job that can take care of me and my family. Being a temporary worker is stressful, not knowing if you're going to be extended and if not, when you'll get another assignment that is worthwhile. With the low pay and no benefits it's really hard to take some jobs since they just aren't worth the time and gas it takes to get there. Just recently I've had more people calling me for permanent jobs - though it's still through a temporary service, it's a step forward. I've had 3 interview in two weeks and probably another this Friday or Monday. Now, if I still don't get an offer out of these four I guess I'll forever be a temporary with no guarantee of anything - and that's not temporary.