Barely Readable

Now that you’re un self-employed you may think it’s time to finally just let yourself go. There’s no one to dress up for and let’s face it, you’ve always been fascinated by people with those curly, elongated fingernails. Forget shaving. No reason to shower in the morning. A perfectly fine diet is meat lover’s pizza and Mt. Dew.

You’ve been fighting your weight for who knows how long, but let’s be honest, that’s a lost cause. No point in keeping up a losing battle. Just give in and you’ll be so much happier.

You don’t have much will power anyway. You might as well just watch another few days of television.

But listen, man, that’s a perfect recipe for depression. If you want to stay sane, you’d better keep those whiskers trimmed, apply deodorant to all the right follicles, and eat something besides candy. Go on, put some gel in your hair. You’ll feel better, believe me.

Yes, exercise even. It’ll be great.

Your unemployment has no salary and no benefits, but it has its benefits. I mentioned some in my inaugural post, but it turns out there’s one important thing I left out: I’ve never felt better in my life.

It’s surprising, because I haven’t accomplished anything in the past three months. I sleep on a back-destroying inflatable air mattress, I have no furniture except for a desk and office chair, I have no cable, and of course no income. Studies even show us that unemployment is bad for your health. So what do I have to feel jump-up-and-down-and-sing fantastic about anyway?

I sleep great because I sleep when my body finds it natural to do so, not when some organization tells me to. I exercise, because I can do it in the middle of the day, right after I wake up. My time is spent my way, and the little accomplishments that I do make are all mine.

I kind of gush with happiness now. I tell everyone who comes within earshot, “I feel great! Dance with me!” But nobody does, the anti-dancing corporate slaves.

I know what you’re thinking: this guy’s selling me a load of rubbish. He says he was pulling down six figures, corner office, corporate jet, trophy wife, two kids and a pet octopus, mistress, Porsche, sauna, tennis court, but he feels terrible inside. So he quits his job, runs out of cash, loses his octopus, starts eating yogurt, and blammo, he discovers himself and feels like a new man, million bucks, etc. Well that’s some Hollywood hooey I ain’t buying, just renting.

I hear you.