Nothing on My Hands But Time

Most mornings I lie in bed and try to convince myself there's a reason to get up. I trudge out of my bedroom dazed, blinking at the new day, wondering how in the world I got here.

If you've ever been unemployed, you know how scary and disorienting it can be. The activity that defined your life and gave you purpose has been ripped away and you must find something to fill the gap. You know you should remain motivated and positive. You know this small setback is really a great opportunity, a chance to move forward, to reach out and grab a brighter future with both hands--but you know, you just don't have the energy.

For the past six years, working at my former job, I've often wished I had more time to do the things I wanted--exercise, walk in the park, sit in a coffee shop and drink expensive coffee while watching other people with time on their hands do the things they want. Now that I have the time, I can't. I feel paralyzed. Numb.

I'm supposed to be job hunting, of course. But since there's a glut of folks in LA doing the same the thing, it's not easy. Thus far, the prospects haven't been great. I do what I can.

Meanwhile, I should take the time to smell the flowers and read the morning paper. Maybe I could take in a weekday matinee or browse a museum, or go down to the beach and look out at the ocean.

Maybe I'll sign up for an arts and crafts class. Then I could use the want ads to make an origami butterfly.