It's after eight o'clock, and the sun is just setting. One of the oddly frustrating aspects of unemployment, apart from constantly wearing the same old boring clothes, is the suspension of one's mental calendar. When I was laid off, it was March 31, and spring had only feinted a little bit.
I keep forgetting that, while all the rest of the people are still going off to work every day, the calendar is still running. Clocks haven't stopped, the weather's getting warmer, the days are so long now we're a month away from when they'll begin shortening again. If time's not a-wastin', it sure isn't waiting either.
I've changed jobs four times since 2001. The temp gig, the first full time gig, the promotion to a better one, the promotion to the best one - all at one company, that, and in five and a half years. Then there was the "transition" and my move to the last employer. I was never out of work in between. It's been nine years since I actually went without work, and in those years I have hit the age where years seem to move more quickly than they used to.
The sensation of how much is going by while I remain without a gig is a bit alarming, and I am doing all I can to swallow, to soldier on. But it is sobering.
I am thrilled that soon I will be having my vacation, and seeing my family.
But I will be just as thrilled when *this* "vacation" is finally over.
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