Another Morning

Mornings when you unemployed are a lot like being young your dreamy, motivated, and full of hope. I wake up, make lists of things to do, shower, shave, and dress well enough to remind myself that I'm a professional. I go out and get a collection of the local papers; the Register Star, Chicago Tribune, and Chicago Sun Times. Feeling confident that my $1.50 may hold the promise of employment I leave the gas station and return home.

I gave up smoking about three years ago but I have been smoking for the past month. Not just one here or there, but a pack, pack and a half a day. Being unemployed is some weird conundrum, it's boring anxiety, a lazy unease, it's sitting on the tarmack not knowing whether your going to take off or return to the gate.

By noon most of my work is done. I try to find things to do but I'm sick of everything. I don't want to talk to my friends and leaving the house just seems like a waste of time. I watch CNN and relate to Mt. St. Helens, a smoking heap of rock and ash. I question my qualifications, every answer I give in interviews, revise my resume for the twentieth time, visit craigslist and monster. Nothing, the hope from the morning fades and is quickly followed by a depression that is in full swing by four o'clock. That's when I start drinking. Everyday is the same, people come and people go, I sit here and rot.