Resume. An Expose

That damn resume. I hear all versions. You haunt me. You track me and you hurt me. I want to go HOME.

The resume doesn't say much about me or anyone else as a human being, a living breathing emotional non-mechanical whatever who is more than just a brain and a nice body. or a mature woman with an agile mind?

I sound like a new graduate from a bad high school.

Yes - correct. Bland resumes dates and places all over the USA and The World.

All over the Web. Back in Cape Town, it is called a C.V (from the Latin). You’d see that immediately if you were not raised over here. In America.

Got to say this and get it out. More apartheid here than back in the boonies. More violence. I hate that with as much passion as I love.

You see, I was an import. I am still just that - "An Import' and I am not wanted ANYWHERE 0r by ANYONE. I should be pushing up the daisies and here I am - member of MENSA - hoping that tomorrow is my last day of pain on earth.

I am different and I matter. I am special. I am ME. I WAS me. I am no one now.

I used to be have value. No, not now.

I will not ever allow myself to forget the other parts that churn in my brain; my talents, my faults, not just “skillsets" but feelings, reactions, laughter, hurt, and tears visible and invisible. Personal Pride. Pain, pleasure. Happiness, loss, grief, hurt, isolation. Too many negatives. Note to self – take them out.

On second thoughts, it is late and I have eye surgery tomorrow.

I have passion, love. Oh, so much love. I love with all my heart and soul and that hurts me past hell. "Trusting". I sound like a dog. I am not obedient though. But I have won many awards (sigh there she goes again) so I shall be still.

I cannot be defined in a resume. I've tried to fit my square peg into those slotted round hole things. Maybe a short story? That's better. I could die at any moment. I wish I could 99 percent of the time. Shhhh.

So I shall continue to ruminate and rumblefumble my words until my eyes are too painful and blurred to focus. At the mature age of double figures, my vision is worse than ever, and my eyes hurt all the time. I do not have much time to use this medium of words but will take as long as I need.

I was born a while ago. I remember so much, so little. Glimpses of Sea Point, my mother, and my father, our flat in Sea Point, our house in Rondebosch. Remember seeing the sky from my pram crossing Main Street. My frustration at not being able to tell my mother what I was so interested in and what I wanted. I remember. I was 6 weeks old. My parents told me. I wanted the RED balloon. I didn’t cry. I tried to point up with stubby little baby fingers. I did a great job of basic baby “goo loka at me I can move” tricks to redirect the attention of the store owner from my mother’s breasts to me.

I was a beautiful baby. I know because there are photographs and yes, my mom and dad told me so. Then I spoiled it by growing up, being a klutz, clumsy, not quite fitting in with others of my species. Hating playschool (or preschool or kindergarten as they say in the US of A.

I was and probably still am nothing more than a joke. Ha Ha. I must find a HOME.

My birth was a prelude to what was to come. Born fast, too fast I was told. I screamed in the nursery at that Convent non-stop per parental repetition. The first and eldest grandchild and a female. Oops. I am not a boy. Too bad.

Nevertheless, my mom is me and I am her and I always will be. I believe she must have been less bothered had I been of the male gender. Then she would not have had to worry about all the potential problems I could bring to family reputations.

My dad is me, too and so it will always be, beyond the limits of time and space and distance and achievements and failures for us all. I love and loved them with all my achy breaky heart. They did a good job. And what did I do? I messed it up.

Bunch of BS is what this is, and it is all I contribute to the world? Hell no.

Read it. And read this too:

If something looks too personal your small peanut brain clean with please with Clorox Wipes.

I can't figure this out. I truly cannot. I cannot take more horror.

Skilled, compassionate, and experienced Occupational Therapist - Texas.

• Please refer to the above links.
• Additional Information
• "I would love to work with you". (How bland tasteless and innocent and look here Sandy you are none of those)

If my long distinguished resume scares you shitless, so be it.

FACT: A resume is not a life story. It is a bunch of BS jargon regurgitated by software and spat back at me by recruiters.

How do you fit ANYONE's life on one page? Or two?

ANSWER: IMPOSSIBLE. Especially without a home.

We are the sum of what we have done? Another bunch of rubbish. I am the sum of what I have learned and used and adapted and traveled and cried and laughed; I cannot be defined in a single page ANYTHING and I shall never be likened to "a GOOD fit" again. Why? Whilst you look at me with recruiter's eyes seeing how much I am worth in terms of $$$ like a diamond or a piece of meat? NEVER. I am too busy re-inventing myself, a chameleon of talent, love laughter and fuckups. The bullet points you want to see on my Perfect Rez are NOT going to make me a better human being, and that is who we are - HUMAN.

By the looks of what has happened to us in the past 4-6 years, we are barely worthy of being called 'kind' or empathetic or caring or wise. We do not listen nor learn, we have forgotten what communication is, and we have devolved. May as well hop on that Rocket to Mars. There is nothing of worth left on Earth. So Elon, I am your first passenger. I want out of this spiral, I want to learn to create to fail and to fall, be a child again and learn anew what it is to grow. To be goal-oriented and trust people. People who LISTEN and UNDERSTAND not just pay lip service.

People are selfish and self-righteous. They hand down judgments and opinions on social media like cyber-bottom feeders. It is not going to help you, you young photoshopped person to get more followers or swipe left or right.

So right now after midnight ...

THIS IS MY HOMECOMING

Is my life to be refined and defined as a resume made to fit on 2 pages we have lived boring and very boring not even adequate lives. Recruiters out there: Remember that when you call me to offer me work at a salary that is less than a quarter of what I was making before, as I will NOT do it.

I am tired and I am creative and I find ways that others cannot to bring out the best in people. I do not look at age or gender, sex or non, and I skim experience because as a friend told me - TAKE OUT all of yours! It makes you seen OLD and Ageism is rampant again.

I WANT TO GO HOME I WANT TO BE HOME I HATE THIS. I want to be HOME. Someone there will remember.

I took out my achievements, what I had done as well as what I adore doing. It has been 4 days of silence.

I HATE HERE I WANT TO BE HOME WITH PEOPLE WHO CARE ABOUT ME,

I am not wanted here. I fall asleep hoping that I NEVER wake up.

Good night fellow "scared to go to sleeper"s. The boogeyman is under the bed. the blankets and under all we have.

I hear all of you.

Your unheard shouts HELP ME and I can no longer help myself.

GOING HOME

PLEASE CONTINUE TO SHOUT, LOUDLY.