As I ride the Luas through Dublin I see people through office windows: sitting at desks, looking flustered on phones; in meetings, being productive and bored; heading out to lunch, to discuss strategies. Everywhere I look I see people with jobs. Where do they find them?

There are jobs I’m unsuited to: physical labour, retail. But I’ve always flourished in offices. I have a knack for organisation and filing, for communicating information. The kind of office work anyone can do – drone work – I’m particularly good at. Why can’t I get a job doing that?

Probably because my CV doesn’t look like that of an office drone. I’ve spent too long pursuing work and amassing qualifications in a more specific field.

So I sit down with my curriculum vitae and try to tailor it to a new application.

It’s a good CV. There is a part of me that feels a little justified feeling arrogant, even though I know I shouldn’t, no matter how good the CV.

I want an office-drone job because my chosen career doesn’t seem to have an entrance.

I really want to work in film and TV. I’m passionate about it, skilled at it, even experienced at it. I’ve had top producers tell me (believably) how impressed they are with my CV. But there are no openings.

In three years since I left college I have had many interviews. I had an interview with a big tech company a few years ago, for an entry-level drone position. They said I was too senior for the role.

Another time I had a mock interview with a bank. They told me they’d hire me if they actually had a real position to offer.

In three years I have found two openings I was eligible for in my field. I got both jobs, but the positions were short-term.

I have worked in television. I have been good at it. I have experience in the more technical roles, and a strong aptitude for them. I have produced professional-standard work using software I taught myself how to use one afternoon.

I have a master’s degree. I thought that would help me get a permanent job. It has not.

I helped write a script for a short film, which won several international awards, and was shortlisted for an Oscar; the script was nominated for awards too.

At the Ifta awards I stood in a room full of the people I most admire, hoping to meet someone who might let me make their coffee.

I was an important part of the creative team behind a hugely successful film. Last week I got to put that down on an application for a JobBridge internship.

I have a child, and previously I couldn’t afford to take a JobBridge internship, because an extra €50 a week wouldn’t cover the resulting childcare costs. But because my partner will soon be going on maternity leave for our second child I can apply for a JobBridge internship. And I can put the master’s and award-winning film on the form.

The landlord is raising our rent, so we have to move. We’ve lived here for three years, enrolled our daughter at the local Montessori, and were preparing our applications for the schools.

I got called into the social-welfare office the other day. “Fill this in. We’re sending you on a course.”

“What’s the course?” I asked.

“It starts on Wednesday. You’ll get the details before then.”

That’s short notice. I’m going to have to line up some childcare I can’t afford. I need more details, but instead of details I get threatened. I’m supposed to be available to work, and if I decline the place my Jobseeker’s Allowance will be reviewed and I’ll get a disallowance.

I fill in the form. I have no problem doing a course. But it really is short notice.

The form has a bit more detail. There is a computer course I could probably teach. And there are two schemes that won’t do a tap for my employability. But they will cost me money in the form of childcare.

I fill in the form.

I have been mostly unemployed for almost two and a half years. I am passionate and capable in my field.

I am angry. Angry that I can’t find an opening. Angry that I don’t know the people who talk about the openings, because openings don’t get advertised outside the friends of friends. Angry that I’m wishing for a job as a drone.

Angry that my master’s and successful experience are sitting on a JobBridge application. Angry that the welfare office is putting me on a pointless course to fill a quota.

Angry at myself because it must be my own fault that I haven’t landed any of the jobs that aren’t advertised. (It’s definitely my fault that I’m not good enough at faking the passion needed to land a crappy job, right?)

Angry at two years of unemployment and only having myself to take my anger out on. And I’m tired too.