My Life as a Jerk (Phase 47.8.8): Voluntary Unemployment
Last Friday, i got to do something all of us dream of, but very few of us are ever actually in a position to go through with; i walked out on my job. I took umbrage to something someone said to me, i carefully considered my options and decided with a certain level of glee that the job was more hassle than it was worth.
I'd handed my notice in and had two weeks left to work - no problem i thought, i'll change my flights and just leave Manchester a little earlier. But, as most would recognise by now, my life is nothing if not an absolute comedy of errors, and after i left work for the last time on Friday a smile so large across my stupid gob, i thought i was unstoppable. Till i got to Flight Centre and was duely informed that there was no availability to change my flights to any sooner than the date i had booked.
So now i'm left in this stinking city, with absolutely nothing to do, no inclination to be here, killing time and wasting money for another two whole weeks. Good one, asshole.
So today is Day Three of official unemployment, and i notice things are on the rapid decline. Monday started off pretty well, i went out for the whole day and met a friend for lunch, went on a massive walk and then went for pints in the evening. Yesterday, i went and met a friend in town for a coffee in the afternoon and picked up some supermarket shopping. Today, however, ambitious plans of climbing Snowdon were dashed early on, it's now 9.16pm and i've not even made it out of bed.
In an hour it's acceptable to go to sleep again.
Desperate for something to do (before i began this blog post), i googled the time in NYC to see if it was an appropriate time to harass Dot (god knows, my correspondence with everyone else on the internet today has been... thorough) - it wasn't an appropriate time, however i notice a link to a live webcam in Times Square.
As i realised i'd just lost 20 minutes of my life, eyes glazed over, watching the traffic in Time Square subconsciously wishing for a car crash with a couple of taxis, or better yet, a plane to fly in that building just as i was watching it - i realised that it had gone too far. Already, after only three days.
Tomorrow i must leave the house. At the very least, i must leave the bed.
The bed's not even that good any more, in fact. Never have i felt more like a squatter than i did after coming home on monday evening to find the stilts of my make shift bed; vanished. The stilts, giant vat-like barrels which used to contain Kashmir's best Mango Chutney. I'm not even joking. So I now appear to be left with a mattress on the floor, and after watching the BBC's three part documentary this week on the life of Gandhi, i feel more akin to him than ever before. A mattress on the ground; i am either a squatter, or a martyr for the cause of the impoverished.
6 years ago