Turns out that the guy with the so-called "marketing position" lied. No salary or benefits. Just a telemarketing job that paid $8.50 per hour.
Driving home, I considered just driving through 66 until I reached the mountains, and then laying down on the ground to watch the clouds go by. It's gotten to the point where I'm too buried in depression that I don't cry, anymore. I just come home and cook dinner. Then I send resume after resume like a robot, before writing a thousand words for my novel. Then I go to sleep.
Today will be no different. I'm gonna go help my guitarist paint a house, make a few dollars for grocery money, and contemplate what life would have been like if I'd just gone to medical school like I really should have. I could be training to be a plastic surgeon, right now... what the hell was I thinking? Being an artist blows.