Yesterday my mother called. I pulled myself out of depression long enough to have an “I’m doing fine” conversation with her. Giving her any indication of my present situation, mentally and physically, would have had her out here in minutes and me on my way to the local loony bin. Not a pleasant option.
“How is that messy city? I wish you’d come home.”
“It’s fine, Mom.”
“I saw Azalia at Neiman’s last week. She said Katherine hadn’t seen you in ages. What’s going on, Reese?”
“I wish you wouldn’t gossip, Mother. You know how I feel about Katherine.”
“I just thought you’d hang out with her more since you don’t know many people there.”
“I know people.”
“Her mother said she has a great group of friends.”
“They’re premature yuppies. You know how I feel about that, too.”
“How about your co-workers?”
“Uh, about that…”
“About what, Reese?”
“I decided to quit last week.”
“Oh Jesus. This is exactly how it started with him.”
“It isn’t always about him. I believe we all have a purpose. And analyzing the stock market behind a particle-board desk in a depressing cubicle is not my calling.”
“I don’t understand how you could just quit without another job lined up.”
“Something will come along.”
“But it was such a good job. I can’t keep bailing you out, Reese.”
“I don’t need help.”
“I’ll make a flight out for Friday. Maybe you should come home.”
“You don’t need to come out. I’m busy with job interviews next week.”
Just a few stretches of the truth here and a few omissions there. The less she’s informed the better she is.
Post-unemployment sign-up, I once again have absolutely nothing to do. Everyday seems to go this way: I wake up. Check my email–which is usually bare aside from the three daily emails from my grandmother that concern cat photography, forwards filled with slanted bigotry, and silly questionnaires. Then I spend a sick amount of time checking every celebrity website—multiple times a day. Lastly, I head over to Facebook and stalk every person I vaguely know. I delight in every post-graduate loser I find in my same situation. By this time it’s hit the eleven o’clock hour and I can justify entertaining myself with food.
My new lunch diet consists of peanut butter and honey sandwiches, each and every day. I’m insanely poor and they give the most bang for your buck. And something about them is extremely comforting. They smell like elementary school.