Day Eleven

Last night, I broke the unemployment news to my father... who is unemployed.

The last job he had was as a gas station attendant on the outskirts of Nashville. He quit because someone held-up the place at gunpoint.

Before working at the gas station, he was studying to be a massage therapist. He couldn't find work.

Before studying massage therapy, he was a very successful computer consultant for a major national company. He got laid off.

Before working in IT, he was a captain in the army, stationed in Seoul, Korea. He was honorably discharged.

When told my dad that I quit my management position at Cafe Gypsy, he shrugged and congratulated me for quitting a job that I didn't feel was right for me.

Then he moved on to the next topic of conversation; his cat just had an eye removed and is in a deep depression over the cone she has to wear. It's not going to be a comfortable period of time for her, but it's for her own good.

I can't help but draw significant parallels between my unemployed self and a one-eyed cat.

Day Eight

Mele, one of my favorite customers at Cafe Gypsy, was giving me a hard time tonight about skipping a few days of writing. He pointed out that the whole point of a blog is to post things on it.

I offered him no excuses, but I did offer him a glass of wine and a commitment to write something tonight before going to bed. 

He begged me not to let him down. After all, what else is a happily employed person supposed to do while at work but follow an unemployment blog?

In the meantime, Cafe Gypsy is struggling to employ enough staff to get them through the summer. Sympathetic to my coworkers' plight, I briefly toyed with the idea of working again after returning from Greece, if only to offset the cost of the trip.

It sounds like a responsible plan... but I've already committed to this unemployment thing, and I'm not one to break a commitment. 

Day Six

I've never had more people request my writing services than since last Tuesday, the day that I put in my notice with Duke.

I'm writing a letter of reference this week for a Portuguese soap star. I've just written some copy for Amouchka Nartin, an inimitable florist who lives up the stairs from Cafe Gypsy. I owe this film student named Mack a story, and he persists in calling me out on failing to deliver my end of the bargain. On separate occasions, both Pat Pillar and a fine gentleman from the Lane hotel mentioned very tangible opportunities involving children's literature.

What's with all of this employment? This blog is not much of an employment blog when there's too much employment going on. Maybe I won't be unemployed. Maybe I'm looking for unemployment where there is none.