Pajamas

Somewhere along the line of being a cube farm worker, under the glow of neon lights and the flash of blue screens, I took it into my head that my dream job would be to work from home in my pajamas.

I would muse endlessly as to how joyous my life would be, if I could work from home in front of a large monitor screen, in the dark, in my pajamas.

My multitasking would be endless and free-formed and elegant, my apartment would be spartan and spotless, and I would pop out for lunches and dinners and walks and have my dog as daily company.

There would be quietude and privacy and just those around that I wanted.

Pajama job.

It has all come true in manner. I have two jobs now, one part-time and contract and one full-time and benefited.

Both jobs pay better than what I was making when I was laid off last year.

They told me last August they would be letting me go, August 1st to be exact.

I was living in devastation from family fallout. I was losing a magnificent family homestead, I was isolated and destroyed and dropping weight at a rapid and unhealthy rate.

My eyes looked lost and vacant and I could barely leave my bed to take a slug of orange juice, eat a nibble of cheese slice, swig some water, and dose myself with Klonopin.

I really thought for sure I was dead this time and nature was just going to do away with me.