When you’re unemployed time takes on a new meaning. The business hours, which are only of importance to those whose desk your resume is sitting on, is for waiting for callbacks and frantically searching near and high for ads. Lots and lots of ads. Seeking top notch individual. Are you self motivated? Immediate Opportunity. 401K! Are You Ready To Start Making Money? $1500-$3000 a week!

The late afternoon is for feeling inadequate. The nighttime is for the consultation of the bank accounts and doing nickel and dime freelance work and wondering what your girlfriend’s mother is saying about you. The period before you fall asleep is for thinking why you live here. Why you went to college. Why you stayed in college and got a masters when that guy you knew from high school is working as a plumber and just bought his first house. Why your friends with English lit degrees are making more money than you, even if it is in construction.

Sundays are for church so you can seek some divine answer for unemployment. You’re told to keep asking. Everything in God’s time. Everyone there needs some question that needs answering, and you look at them wondering if its been answered. There must be an answer here somewhere. Is it to calm your swagger, your arrogance in knowing you’re badass at doing what you do? It isn’t yet working with me, but I’m not anxious to throw down the gauntlet and sit atop the mast of that boat like Lieutenant Dan did in Forrest Gump, legless and tattered and screaming at the thunderstorm asking God if that’s all he’s got, to bring it on, you mother fucker. I’m not at that point yet. You might take a lesson like Johnny Cash who learned there aint no good in an evil hearted woman, that you ain’t cut out to be no Jesse James, and you don’t go writing hot checks down in Mississippi, and there ain’t no good chain gang.