For all three of you that read this blog (ok, fine, just J), you’ll have to forgive me for the intensely boring nature of my babblings with regards to unemployment.  But seriously, people- if I do the math (and I’m unemployed, I dunno if I mentioned it, so math is hard now), then I have been employed, as in taxes withheld and Social Security paid into, for the past TWENTY YEARS.


People, I am not actually that old.  Which means that since I was 13, I have been a productive member of society (by this arbitrary employment standard), with a job that came with a W2 at the end of the year.  Sure, the jobs between, say 13 and 18 were minor- I worked as an assistant for a neighbor, I stuffed envelopes for a magazine- but they paid me cash money that permitted me to purchase items I deemed “fashionable” at the time; the skin tight acid washed Guess jeans my mother refused to buy for me stand out in particular.

Later I entered into the wilds of retail- cheese “expert” at a gourmet grocery store, a particularly horrid summer working at Boston Chicken (it wasn’t even called “Market” then), and lifeguarding for the entirety of my college career.  After college, I did something completely radical, in that I applied and obtained a job in my field, a job from which I was promptly laid off nine months later.  Which lead to the last time I was every this foot loose and fancy free- the three months between that job and the next one, wherein I packed everything I couldn’t sell into an aging Toyota Corrolla and drove myself from Boston to Seattle.

Where I got the next job, and the next, and this last one, the one I just left?  I spent 10.5 years there.  That’s a motherfucking THIRD of my life at one desk, so forgive me if I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around the part where now I don’t have to be anywhere at any specific time, ever.

Please note for the record that I AM NOT COMPLAINING.  Oh, dear god, not a whisper of complaint will cross my lips as it pertains to the magic of not working. Mostly because coffee breaks have suddenly become coffee hours, and they can take place at any hour I’d like, not just some ungodly one with a high probability of it still being DARK out.  Showering also appears to have become more optional than usual, and to be enjoyed and not just used as some sort of waking technique.

As I mentioned before, I have only the vaguest notion of what comes next, and no real need to find out in a great hurry.  So I’ll turn the kitchen table into my internet surfing spot, and the basement into a gym for when it’s too cold or windy to run outside, and the coffee house down the street into a facsimile of an office watercooler, for when I feel the need to interact with a non feline mammal.

I think unemployment and I are going to get along just fine.