Overarching goals of unemployment
Find new job. Housewifery is boring and am not cut out for it. Would prefer to work, earn a living, and have human contact.
Get fit. With all this time on my hands, I might as well work out.
7:45 – wake up to the mister’s alarm and PANIC. Waking up to his alarm is bad because I should be on the train downtown by the time it goes off. Late, late very late, oh no…oh, wait. Don’t have to go to work. Don’t have to go back to that place ever again. Smile smugly, go back to sleep.
7:52 – wake up to mister’s alarm. Kick mister in shins. Get up, dude. There is no snooze button during unemployment.
8:01 – wake up to mister’s alarm, give up, get out of bed. Deal with dog, kiss mister goodbye, hop back into bed with flying leap.
8:09 – huh. Bored.
8:10 – I think the West Wing is on.
8:11 – 9:00 – apply for unemployment benefits while watching West Wing. Find it slightly ironic that West Wing episode involves frequent jokes regarding unemployment.
9:15 – brush teeth and hair, put on work out gear.
9:45-10:50 - in effort to meet Goal Two, go to gym and participate in Strictly Strength class. Whimper, weep, gasp. Thigh muscles quivering. Lunges, bicep curls, overhead presses. Entire body exhausted. Stretching on the floor at the end of class feels so good. Instructor claps her perky little hands and says, “great job, you’re all done.” Attempt to get up off of floor. Legs refuse to cooperate. Use the same weight bar that put me on the ground to struggle to my feet. Have to pee but fear sitting down on toilet because might not ever get up again. Hobble, oddly bowlegged, to car.
10:55-11:15 – stop at Walgreens to refill pill prescription. While waiting, look at display of PedEggs. Interesting. Ponder usefulness of PedEgg on my dry, cracked, scaly, nasty heels. Purchase PedEgg, pills, and half gallon of Samoa Ice Cream. Goal Number Two: fail.
11:25 – wrestle with PedEgg package.
11:30 – wrestle with PedEgg package.
11:31 – hunt for scissors in my kitchen. There are none. Put on boots and stomp angrily out to garage. Collect 4 pairs of scissors and, oddly enough, one whisk. Stomp back into house, muttering angrily about husband and his kleptomaniac tendencies under breath.
11:32 – wrestle with PedEgg package and scissors. SUCCESS.
11:33-11:45 – attack feet with PedEgg. Feel baby soft skin on heels and grin. Worthwhile investment. Empty skin shavings out of PedEgg and gag.
11:45-12:15 – lunch with husband. He eats leftover BBQ sandwiches. I eat leftover brownies from party on Saturday, chase brownies with bowl of Samoa ice cream. Goal Number Two: fail. Harangue husband about disappearance of scissors.
12:15 – shower. Shave legs for first time in several weeks. There was an incident where the Strictly Strength instructor corrected my form and her perky hand came into contact with my bristly, unshaven leg. I felt more shame over that than I did over the fact that my lunges were so bad.
12:45 – debate merits of pants. Decide to hold off until going to office supply store to purchase new pack of bond paper for resumes (old pack is almost out).
12:45-2:15 – search for jobs; prepare various job applications.
2:15 – weep over lack of jobs.
2:25 – weep over my lack of experience
2:35 – have another bowl of Samoa ice cream. Goal Number Two: fail.
3:00 – is the mister home yet? God, I’m bored. Bored bored bored.
3:05 – Nothing on TV. There’s a Bruce Springsteen song. It goes 57 channels and nothing’s on. Amen, Bruce. Amen.
3:07 – Google Springsteen song. Laugh uproariously at The Boss’ mullet.
3:10 – Shine laser pointer around house, watch dog lose his little mind.
4:00 – Take dog for walk.
4:30 – Fall on ice. Am so sore from working out this morning that getting up actually hurts more than falling down did. Ponder the merits of crawling three blocks home.
5;15 – the mister’s home! Yay, human contact!
5:50 – make dinner. Yummy. Have two glasses of wine. Follow dinner with a bowl of Samoa ice cream. Goal Number Two: fail.
6:45 – The mister is doing algebra homework and doesn’t want to talk to me because he has to concentrate. Really? Does he not understand that I’ve been storing up words all day and that either he listens to me now or I start talking the minute we get into bed and he’ll just have to listen to my chatter for an hour then?
I think tomorrow I’m going to need to find something a tiny bit more constructive to do.