Unemployment is a malignant consumer of time. Blame and excuse is pointless and I won't offer up the causality of unemployment and speechlessness. I stopped writing in any kind of earnestness really around the time I was waiting to find out if I had cancer, over a year ago. The jobless state is really just the most recent opportunity to gaze at my navel, and while I've had no problem transposing that knave errantry in the past, it has been impossible to do lately. Until now. I am writing and not exactly sure why, or about what, but I am writing.
A friend of mine and charming thoughtster posted a link to an article about the changes in communication style brought on by modern electronic media- specifically Facebook. Suddenly I have thoughts. Apparently there is something rattling around in this head of mine after all. I don't work first shift, second shift, or third. I am... shiftless.Bukowski made it look easy. I've read Factotum a few times and find it to be one of the greatest pieces of SlackerLit ever penned. The first time I read it I was gainfully employed and still struck by the simple power of his words. Base, visceral expression with thorny stems carefully guarding well hidden flowers of budding optimism. As a shiftless reader, I now see his work differently. I am awed about his sense of calm.Point of fact: I am not the only unemployed person in America. Many people are actively feeling the teeth of this bear market economy. Most probably worse than me. Still, I can't help but notice it was exactly four months ago today I was notified of my layoff and I am still unable to produce a job capable of supporting my family. Four months. Four months.Someone pointed out to me at one point that Kubler-Ross'Stages of Death And Dying (SoDAD) really fit the model of any kind of loss. I suppose I've been wandering through those while interviewing. It is convenient, since the interview process is akin to watching inexperienced cheetah cubs miss kill after kill, realizing in retrospect each sequential error. Another meal forfeit. Another shift lost. Frankly you must interview a lot to afford enough mistakes to eventually get one right. Understanding SoDAD helps a bit along the way, but its eats away more of my mind's runtime than I'd like to forfeit.The process of becoming unemployed is about reassessing your options and action toward shiftfulness, but a funny thing happens along the way. You're labeled. I'm unemployed. I get a check for $342 a week from the state to pay for my things. Of all the things that I am, this particular status fits me best and suits me least. I am much more than this, yet it is the first thing discussed. A constant, well-meant reminder of what I am not. It is often easier to just limit these discussions rather than have them ad infinitum.Time Magazine's bemused exploration of the Facebook phenomenon struck some kind of chord. Do these social networking sites like MySpace and Facebook curtail actual interaction? The author thinks perhaps, yes. I am not so sure. I think instead it is about time management or avoidance.These sites gives you the opportunity to connect to your 'network' and still tend to the drudgery of daily life. So I've connected to a lot of people, but I don't talk to them much more than I did before. I'll be honest: I probably didn't talk to most of them for months or years. I still like them. That's why I'm connecting in the first place. This is a peoplebase: individuals are sorted and filtered to produce real-time reporting and contact. You're special, just like everyone else on the list and sometimes it is easier to hide in plain sight.This is actually a great tool, but social networking is really more than just about friends. I think Machiavelli would have created MySpace as 'A Place For Fiends'. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. It is better to be feared than loved. It would have to be called something other than a 'Friend' request. This word is badly overused anyway. A fiend request can only help provide clarity.A quarter year into unemployment, I am surprised by how full my day is trying to get off the dole. Searching takes time. Interviewing takes time. Shaking off rejection after rejection takes time. The introspection that follows takes time. From the navel gazing position it is unmistakable when shit happens. Everyone has been kind and positive about the future. Logic dictates that, short of death, the odds of me finding a job is inevitable. I know that. I'd like to still have a home when that moment comes, if at all possible. I would like to remain optimistic about the chances for such a thing.In fact dung is apparently the universal substrate for rebirth. Ok the phoenix used ashes instead... Its impossible to fail noticing how weight of this navel gazing has bent a seed-like posture upon me. All this decay, the SoDAD hints at acceptance and maybe even renewal. Rebirth. I know all that, its just out there somewhere in the future, not in this moment. Instead I can only marvel at Bukowski's cool in bleak moments. He has more fun than I do and is as unconcerned with the future as the present.Most of this screed defies coherence. It is probably why I don't write as much now. Too many thoughts create the a net output of zero, just like actual mindless behavior... no mind. Nirvana. And its not terribly uplifting. If you seek depressing literature, James Joyce is much better at being horrid. Angela's Ashes is a nicely written account of really hard living. That's not me. I'm going to the gym and finding time to play a game where the rules permit me to knock other men to the ground. Its good therapy, if nothing else. I am just apparently waiting for this situation to be adequately fertilized for growth and unsure what to do in the meantime.
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