Wednesday, March 25, 2009


It has been since November 1, 2008 that I've been a free agent. The down side of being self-employed is that I don't make a lot of money. I don't even make half what I used to make. I don't make a third of what I used to make. I should be worried. I am, to some extent, concerned about about how we'll make ends meet, but I worry about how we will buy stupid things like toilet paper and toothpaste.

With all of the talk of economic doom and difficult times ahead, I should be more worried. I should be out looking for a real job. But I am so happy not to be employed. There are these moments every now and then when I just get giddy. When I feel the freedom I have acquired all over my body like the burst of pleasure you get when eating chocolate ice cream at a beachfront cafe on summer vacation.

I have nothing against work, but I have rarely enjoyed employment. The reluctant rebel in me was always discontent, a square peg, a Sisyphus, a Maynard G. Krebbs. It finally feels right. Now, if only I could make a living.

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