The Unemployed Scribe

Sadly, my little minions, Steff has lost her job today, thanks to the slow season in the film industry.

The timing, it seems to me, is oddly good yet terrifyingly bad, considering my current financial picture. Resiliency, though, is one of my greatest assets, and it will see me through this period of upheaval.

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LATER...

I haven't begun to drink yet, but there's a couple beers lurking in my fridge. Once they're gone, I shall be truly broke off my ass, my friends. But it's all right. I have this strangely hallucinogenic feeling of calm. Yes, I smoked a little dope, but I'm rather well schooled at that sensation, and this is a tad otherworldly.

I think the chaos might be just what I needed. Can I say this now? I really fucking hated my job lately. I just really, really hated Monday mornings. I wanted to jump off my desk and commit hari kari with the nearest colleague's scissors-- every single day. I felt my skin growing pasty and cold and my heart was shrinking into Grinch-size territory, and my will was nearly completely beaten.

I think I'm going to have one of those screaming-from-the-rooftops "Thank fucking God!" brushes with unemployment. I'm not saying I'm going to up and turtle and nestle my bong next to me on my couch as I ebb into a meaningless existence fuelled by daytime television and hallucinatory fogs. No, no, never that. Just on weekends.

Now's my opportunity, though, to put my money where my mouth is. So I can sell anything to anyone? How about myself? Well, let's just see now. If I had $20, I'd fucking put it on me. But you, if you've got $20, feel free to send it to me. Consider me your personal charity. Sure, why not?

But I'll still blog. In fact, my unemployment could be a real boon to all of you poor working bastards forced to surf subpar personal weblogs for your woefully inadequate corporate wageslaving. This lack of employment-based oppression might really unshackle my fragile little psyche. With it running rampant over the landscape of cyberspace, this could well be a catastrophe in the making. Or entertaining, at the very least.

Watch-- now I'll never reach 10,000 hits. "Don't go there. She's beyond morose. She's unemployed."

Gasp! But thank God I'm Canadian. Hey, and now you can hear about our social safety net from the inside out. Lucky YOU. Oh, to be a fly on my wall. But wait-- you already are.

(This is so cool! Now when I call myself a slacker, I'll no longer be a poseur! I'll have a pink slip to prove it!)