An Open Letter to my Unemployment (Day 38)

Dear State of Unemployment,

Though it seems like we were reacquainted yesterday, like abusive lovers who can't keep away, you've been around for over a month now. Though I figured you'd be staying for a month or two, it looks like you've made yourself rather comfortable, and are in no hurry to leave. Frankly, you are starting to wear on my nerves a bit.

No, wait, don't get angry, we've had our share of good times, right? Remember Summer of 2000? Yeah, when I was rehabbing my knee. I didn't even try to make you leave. I just spent all of my savings in bars and hung out with friends all day. You were a welcome houseguest, and I'll never forget that. And remember January - May of 2003? How could you forget, it happened so recently? Granted, this wasn't quite as fun, with no money and the bad luck with girls and drinking too much, but still, I didn't fight too hard to get rid of you. And even January and February of 2004, how could you forget? Though it seemed like I didn't want you around, with the frantic searching for a job and all, you still provided a welcome break in my routine.

But now things are different. You are here because I quit my job on purpose, so I could move. I welcomed you with open arms, figuring we'd have a nice reunion, some quality time, and we could say goodbye for at least a few more years. But the thing is, it hasn't been quite as fun as in the past. First off, it sucks to be out of a job when it gets cold outside, because then you have to spend your whole day inside, and that will wear on anybody. And I know that M is going to make more money than I for the rest of our lives, but it'd be nice if I could take her out a bit more. Also, since i've just moved here, I don't know how to properly entertain myself. I'm reading a lot, sure, but the closest library sucks, and it's hard finding anything worth reading. I was spoiled in Madison, with placing holds and requesting books from crosstown libraries, that was awesome. I would mind walking the ten blocks there if it was warmer outside. I should be working on some grand project with all my free time. I should be writing a novel. If a wrote just two pages a day I'd be over 70 already, that'd be a solid start. But instead nearly all of my writing is 'blogging,' which is the lowest form of writing imaginable, save for pamphleteering, which ranks lower due to its inherent self-righteousness and grand illusions.

And I know I don't have a clear direction, I don't have a 'dream job' or a clear objective to put on my resume. I want to gets paid, and I don't want to break a sweat doing it, and I'd rather sit most of the day. How can I tell people, without losing any dignity, that my ideal job is being a 'fundit' on VH1's Best Week Ever? That I can make up jokes about Kevin Federline for hours? (Britney Spears presented an award at the Grammy's last week, and to mark the occasion Kevin Federline wore his finest beer-stained wife-beater and 'mentally' shaved. It's so easy!)

I must admit sometimes I behave like I'm in no hurry to get rid of you, but I know it would be for the best. I got super-excited last week when I got the phone call from that company, and subsequently was devastated when I never got a call back about an interview. This sort of thing wears on my self esteem, and temporarily affects my effort. But you know i'll find my footing again eventually, instead of wasting a day by downloading music and shaving off my sideburns. So enjoy yourself while you still can, our love/hate relationship must continue for at least a while longer. I just wrote to let you know where I stand, and let's make the best of the time we have left together, live each day like it's our last. Let's go buy something to cook for dinner and maybe do some laundry later. If you're good, we'll split a beer or two later, there's still 3 in the fridge.

Your pal,
N.