When I first misplaced my job, I was secretly thrilled. At least during those moments when I could put aside the fear of dying homeless in my later years and sleeping under a freeway. I was thrilled because I so looked forward to sitting on my sofa for long, undisturbed stretches of time.
But now that I am actually here there is a small problem.
I might become part of the sofa. I might one day be unable to get up. Being unemployed means no structure to the day. No structure means stretching into endlessness. Unfortunately, this makes me feel like I might be dying. Now I am not in any kind of clinical state, so I don’t actually THINK I am dying. But a nameless dread starts to fill my being. I might just sit here on the sofa forever.
As a result, I am inventing myself the job of being unemployed. As in, sophisticated decision-making processes around how many pieces of toast to have. As in, deadlines for when I will exercise, when I will pay my bills. Arbitrary schedules for random but required tasks.