When I was gainfully employed, today would have been the perfect Sunday, i.e. rainy, cold and not much on my schedule. I love rain when I have nowhere I have to be. It’s perfect for starting a fire in the fireplace and curling up on the sofa with a good book.
However, since I have to dig deep down to find much of anything to fill all of my days lately, the perfect Sunday doesn’t seem to have much of an impact anymore. In the immortal words of Primus: “Funny thing about weekends when you’re unemployed, they don’t quite mean so much, except you get to hang out with all your working friends.”
Time is insidious, especially when coupled with a lack of money. I have all the time in the world to do anything or go anywhere, but no money to fund even an excursion to the grocery store. I have no sense of purpose. I have no reason to get out of bed in the morning. So, I try to do what little I can to make my sheer existence meaningful, if only to me.
It has been nearly six months that I’ve been unemployed. Six months is a long time to be drifting around in the world. I feel like a prisoner to some extent. I’m not free and I provide little value to society; I actually cost taxpayers money.
Just like most prisoners will profess though, I am innocent. I am not guilty of my crime. I didn’t get fired; I got laid off because the world has gone to hell, because a few greedy people ruined it for everyone. And just like a prisoner, I am not alone. There are millions out there just like me who are trying to make their way in the world and not getting very far at all.
Someday, sooner rather than later, I hope that Sunday means something to me again. I hope that I will look forward to a cold, rainy day with nothing much to do.