There's something exquisitely dismal about unemployment compensation. It feels like a form of charity, with less nuns and government over sight. People who receive unemployment are seen as lazy, system leaching parasites that sit around all day, getting sit faced, giving the finger to babies and unwed mothers. While two of those things are probably true, the system leaching parasite portion is way off!
Regardless, the stigma towards being unemployed can be disheartening. Even more disheartening is the empty time people are knocking you for isn't your fault. There's always a down time between getting canned from one job and picking up another, equally suck ass job. No one is ever prepared for the void that not working leaves in your life. It's not apparent at first but, it creeps up pretty fast.
When you have a job to attend to, you have somewhere to go and something to do. There is a set criteria and expectations regarding production during your working hours and you plod through the day to meet them. It's amazing how slaving for "the man" occupies both your body and mind. When it's suddenly gone, there are countless hours to fill and no one to tell you how to fill them. It seems like a blessing, but, you find out, sooner or later...it's not. Drinking and masturbating, as it turns out, only fills so many hours.
Porn is suspiciously absent from this list.
Drunken pity, self-sex aside, empty hours can play havoc on the brain. Don't get me wrong, not having to do shit all day can kick ass occasionally. Those "special" days when I'm at the mall, sitting on a bench in a bathrobe and cowboy hat, staring sternly at passersby, while playing Neil Diamond's greatest hits aloud on my iPod, would never happen if I had a job. Believe me...some of those days have changed my life, but, there are far better things I could have been doing.
Starting that much needed beer planking fad, perhaps?
I pondered the question of what to do with my time for a few depressing days. Okay, maybe not depressing, there were hallucinogenic laced milk shakes involved, various drunken exchanges of "I love you"s with strangers and once...and only once...an emotionally abused orangutan. Don't get your panties in a bunch...the fucking monkey started it. If it didn't want to be reminded of it's forced removal from it's mother and her subsequent poacher death , it shouldn't have, via sign language, called my Mom a cunt. Fucking monkeys. It doesn't even know my mother! Oh and for future reference...orangutans can cry while giving the finger.
He's more personable when he's sober.
I eventually stumbled into blogging as a way to pass the time, better my writing and possibly make money. Instead of, you know, feeding dollar bills into stripper's g-string college funds. Which isn't a bad way to spend a day or two either. It's just costly and disease ridden. Blogging definitely helps with that (sorry disease ridden strippers).
College and baby formula are just going to have to pay for themselves, Glitter Devine.
So, if you should ever find yourself lost in the immense gulf of time being jobless creates, I suggest blogging to fill your hours. It's a great way to pass the time, augment or develop a bankable skill and you meet a lot of great people along the way. Plus, you might get an income out of it. There's nothing wrong with that--oh, don't look at me with those "what the fuck!" eyes...of course I mean after you tire of the drunken binges and touching yourself...that was a given.