Who Am I, Exactly?

According to Gawker.com, consumer magazines as a whole lost nearly 26% of their ad pages in the first quarter of 2008. Newspaper chains advertising declined by 30% in the same period. Trade pubs—like Billboard—posted a 27% collapse in ad sales and a 21% whallop in revenues from January 2009 compared to January 2008.

Meanwhile, Yahoo! reports today, meanwhile, that the number of people receiving jobless benefits exceeded 6 million for the first time ever, according to a government study. "Analysts expect the labor market to remain weak for the most of this year with companies reluctant to hire new workers until economic recovery is well under way. The Labor Department offers that companies cut a net total of 663,000 jobs in March, sending the unemployment rate to 8.5%, the highest in 25 years."

What's an unemployed writer to do in an industry that is heaving its final breaths—in a nation whose economy shows signs that recovery is doubtful in 2009? My answer: I'll be god-damned if I know.

So far, I've lined up a sliver of freelance work after paying an exorbitant tax bill on Monday that cleaned out my checking account (thankfully, that's because I earned an unprecedented amount of previously untaxed freelance income in 2008). Severance and health benefits remain through the end of June—and then unemployment starts... a whopping $425 a week. Which is taxed (madness). And then I also begin paying into Cobra for health benes, essentially balancing unemployment against healthcare. And I got to eat some vienna sausage. And pay the maintenance. Air conditioning? Ah, who needs it? I'm already sweating and it's 50 degrees.

Without a doubt, lean living is ahead. The average length of time to find a mid-level white collar job is now estimated at 28 weeks—and even that figure has been adjusted from 20 weeks earlier this year. As Sheena would say, "I'd rather go to the dentist any day" than deal with such uncertainty... and it's clear that my "talent," "reputation" and "experience"—those three golden grains that I've been assured are going to make this a less-than-disastrous transition—just ain't enough. For anyone.

I'm not panicked yet. I've got savings (as opposed to dwindling investments, thank god). Expenses are in check. Ayhan is working. But I obviously have no choice but to reinvent what it is I do for a living. Blogging, while a great pleasure, isn't exactly a cash cow, either. Those two ads up to the right on this page have fostered a whopping $8 in income. That'll get me a sub with extra lettuce and a Diet Coke. Hold the chips, please.

For the first time in 25 years, I'm forced to ask, who am I? The uncertainty is like a giant palm branch waving in front of my eyes, constantly blocking the view. Not since before college have I had to wonder: What am I going to be?