The Waiting

I liken this feeling to one of a medicinal bent. Imagine you were told by your doctor that something had “come up,” something “strange” was in a scan, or an x-ray, or some test of fluid they took from you previously. Imagine that icy stab of fear – that falling feeling of the unknown – and you begin to understand where I and 9.5 million of us are at. Jobless.
I admit, I didn’t think I would ever be in this position. I didn’t think I would ever lose my job to the economy. I found it much more likely I was going to lose my job because I got sloppy, or bored, or…worse. Before I felt I understood how the world worked and before I rediscovered writing as my escape – my tool to beat back the mediocrity of American existence – I struggled with what I subconsciously understood as the “quiet desperation” of life. I was both impressed and repulsed by the idea someone could go to a job day in, day out, for twenty, thirty, even forty years and consider it normal. Indeed, the obverse – not having a job or having a succession of jobs – was, and for the most part, is considered abnormal.
There had not been anything in my life as I thought about this I had ever done for a decade or more; now, of course, in my 40’s I’ve lived for many decades and it has been decades since I graduated high school and college (the biggest events of my life so far). To consider that people could work at the same job for as long as I had been alive or been out of school was nearly inconceivable.
To be fair, it is remarkable and enviable that someone can achieve such a milestone. For whatever reason they managed to get to such an objective, whatever gave them the ability to do so, it is laudable they were able to do so.
What I didn’t know then was that, more than likely, everything else the person did made it bearable to do the same job day after day. The car, the homes, the hobbies, the spouse, the kids, the pets, the family, the vacations – all of it was fodder for the mind. Or grist to chew the cud of everyday life. Every day life – those eight hours of work plus the time it took to get there.
But back to my original idea. I received such a pronouncement – notice that something was going to change. I thought I was untouchable. So when I was laid off, when I was let go purely in a move to save money for a corporation I had been with for such a short time, I had to shift how I was going to live for the next few weeks or months.
Well, it turned out to be months and I still do not have a new job. And it is likely I won’t get one anytime soon. Each time I look at my home page I see some expert saying that things are going to get worse before they get better.
Things can’t get much worse for me. Well, they could, I have to admit. I could get a non-metaphorical diagnosis of impeding medical doom. I could have an accident and lose my car. I could lose my house. I could lose my books. (Those of you who know me know that last one is one of my worst nightmares.)
So where in the process am I now? I decided on a course of treatment; and we’ve adopted a wait and see attitude. I have been given a good prognosis – as long as everything proceeds according to plan – and I’ll emerge, if not better, at least on a more level playing field than before. (Remember folks, this is just an extended metaphor!)
But the waiting…well, it’s just…damned…annoying.