Drunken Cleaning and Other Activities for the Unemployed

It’s been three months now since I was fired from my job.  It was sucking the life out of me and turning me into a humorless bitch, so I felt a true sense of relief when it happened.  I had already initiated a job search, and then, at the end of a Thursday afternoon near Christmas, I was called to human resources and told to pack up my things and move on.

For the first month or so, at odd moments during the day, I would find myself thinking of one work project or another and end the thought with a heartfelt, “I’m glad I don’t have to worry about THAT anymore.”

But it’s been three months now and my brain is starting to feed on itself for lack of anything better to do.  Sure, I’ve got a whole house to remodel, but its not as if many of the projects provide a lot of intellectual stimulation.  We won’t even delve into the humiliation of having to depend on my parents for money at the age of 35.  They’ve been fabulous about it, but I’ve been on my own since I was 17, and my pride is wincing every day.

I believe that introspection can be a good thing in small doses; in larger packages it becomes nothing but an unhealthy exercise.  Who really cares what my issues are, other than me?  And if I haven’t been able to change myself at this point in the game, shouldn’t I just suck it up and get on with my life, personality flaws and all?  Shouldn’t I just suck up my pride and apply for a job at Burger King?  Aaargh, mental stop.

So I scrape wallpaper, and I think.  I put in base moldings, and I think.  I putter aimlessly, and I think.  The projects I had planned on completing by now are still only partially done, and I find I’m justifying my lack of progress to my own inner dominatrix, “But I’m sore, I’m tired, I just don’t feel like scraping wallpaper today!!”

This week I’ve been distracted, unfocused, and all those other things that come from stress; I’m waiting to hear back from the unemployment bureau about my request for a redetermination.  They’re overdue.  Kind of ironic, when one considers that I was fired for not meeting deadlines, but I’ve had enough of the irony of being bit in the butt by bureaucracy after having been a bureaucrat for five years.  I really, really, just want my unemployment benefits.

Ideally I’d distract myself with work.  My inner dominatrix likes it when I do that, but I’m already distracted, and I try not to work with power tools that could cut off a limb when I’m distracted.  I’ve watched a lot of TV this week, and I couldn’t tell you what any of it was…

There’s no one to tell me what to do, no boss, no parent, just that inner, unrelenting dominatrix.  She’s enough.  On occasion I’ll take an evening and just get drunk, but even massive quantities of bourbon aren’t enough to shut her up.  I’ll find myself cleaning, doing laundry, dishes, sweeping – yep, it’s 3 a.m., I’m high as a kite, and rather than just enjoying the experience and letting my mind wander, or decently passing out on the couch, I’m sorting laundry.  What on earth is wrong with me?!  Well, to figure that out would require more introspection, and we all know how unhealthy THAT can be.