It's 4:20 a.m. and I am wide awake. Actually, I've been awake for half an hour. Considering I'm jobless and a self-proclaimed night owl, it's a major feat that I'm up right now.
Last night in Daniel's kitchen he pulled the coffee maker down from its hiding spot, the cupboard above his fridge. Let's make coffee, he said randomly and excitedly. Of the two of us, I am the coffee drinker -- not Daniel. Coffee sticks with him like garlic, so he normally stays away. I declined coffee at 6 p.m. because I knew it would have me up until 6 a.m., and with a smile on my face asked him where his unusual craving for coffee was coming from. I'm really excited for work tomorrow, he said.
On Friday, Daniel was given a job that puts him at 60 hours a week. For the past few months, overtime in his department was at a lackluster all time low, averaging four extra hours per week. Back when I was employed, my department averaged 50-hour weeks so I understood his excitement at the prospect of 60 hours. When Daniel works overtime, he makes over $100 an hour.
I don't tell him this, but it's hard for me not to be jealous that he gets to work 60-hour weeks. Hell, it's hard for me not to be jealous that he still has a job. This is something I haven't figured out yet, in terms of normality. Is it normal to be jealous of your boyfriend because he's employed?
But if I stop and think about it, I'm jealous of my old coworkers in my department that still have jobs. Not that I'd want to take their jobs from them so that I could be employed... Well... maybe I'd take one person's job and leave that person unemployed.
Thursday I plan to have lunch with the handful of people in my old department with whom Katherine (the other Admin gal that was let go) and I were close. You see, I really do miss these people. I spent 50 hours a week with them -- they were pretty much family considering I have no family out here in California. I laughed in front of them; I cried in front of them; I screwed up in front of them; I grew in front of them. To me it's jarring not to see them on a daily basis anymore. I've never, ever felt so haunted by the memory of a job or ex-coworkers. Then again, I've never, ever been let go or fired.
It's funny because when I speak to my old coworkers I feel like I'm still working there. Sort of like I'm a telephone consultant. Oh that meeting does not need to be covered, programming is essentially complete for that panel. Or, you should cover that meeting because it's really easy and the project supervisor comes off as a lion but is really a big teddy bear underneath. Or, there's no reason our department should be doing the work of that other department. What are they being paid to do anyway?
It's almost as though I was in an accident and I lost my arm, but I still feel like I have an arm. There was an accident (my boss is an idiot) and I lost my job. Yet when I talk to old coworkers it still feels like I have a job. I clearly still have a vested interest in the company that decided I was disposable. I have mixed emotions about that.
Last night after watching the Saints narrowly eke through football history onto the path for Superbowl stardom, Daniel and I went grocery shopping. He with his wallet, me with my grocery list and my coupons. We (he) bought $105 worth of food, saving $36 with the coupons and preferred card items we (he) bought.
Daniel's refrigerator normally contains Coors Light, bottled water, eggs, and condiments. If it's a big shopping week for him, sometimes his fridge is also stocked with cheese and hot dogs or bologna. Sometimes both processed meats.
Before we went shopping last night, we collaborated on the grocery list roughly planning out meals for the week. (Normally he is so not a planner. I'm not really either but he is so not a planner it drives me crazy at times. It's like I can't get him to commit to having hamburgers versus pizza for dinner that same night.) When we went shopping and saw other items not on our grocery list (pork chops, potstickers, more eggs), he didn't hesitate to drop them in the cart. (This is not how I grocery shop anymore when I'm shopping for myself.) Nervously I watched as he picked up an item that wasn't on sale -- like the pound of butter that cost twice as much as the store brand. I shook my head at him disapproving his butter choice. But I like this brand, he justified. Try this brand then, I suggested of Tillamook, which was still brand name but also on sale and less than the $5 pound of Land 'O Lakes butter. When I was employed, I was never like this. If I wanted $5 butter, damnit I'd buy $5 butter! Having lost my first job ever in my life, I'm pretty sure I'll never buy $5 butter again. And I'll be damned if Daniel does in my presence!
Really the reason I'm up is because Daniel left for work at 4 a.m. He handed me a cup of coffee as I lay in bed and then turned on the morning news for me. He left for the day and I settled into bed to watch the morning news. It's been awhile since I've done that. I stretched my arms overhead and briefly thought ... I should do yoga. Which is a hilarious thought because I don't own a yoga mat anymore (though Daniel has one) and I haven't done yoga in years. Then the thought occurred to me that many (if not most?) employed people don't drink coffee in bed while watching the morning news (at least I never did when I was employed). They don't wake up at 4 a.m. and do yoga (unless they are crazy exercise enthusiasts or extremely motivated -- neither of which I am). That's stuff for housewives. The self-employed. Those who telecommute. The unemployed.
Daniel will be home around 3 p.m. He lives in a gated community and without him calling the front gate to let me back in, I really can't leave. Staying at his place almost feels a bit like being imprisoned, but not in a bad way. I bring stuff to do. I have my manuscript, a bunch of magazines I've been unable to read, and a book. Daniel has cable, which is a plus. I find that while he's gone at work, the first thing I tend to do is clean. I make his bed, I hang up his towel if he discards it in the living room where he gets dressed in front of the TV so as not to disturb me by turning on the light in the bedroom. I unload or load the dishwasher and/or wash the dishes that aren't dishwasher friendly. I tidy the living room. I do some laundry.
At a cursory glance, it probably looks like I'm trying to impress him. Possibly, that's what he thinks! Really, though, I clean more out of guilt. Guilt because I am jobless and have tons of free time and he doesn't. Guilt because I am a guest in his house. Guilt because he feeds me most nights of the week during a time when for me money is so tight, I only buy $1 items at the grocery store and would probably otherwise starve.
No comments:
Post a Comment