Unemployed

Day 2 of the respite between the former bane of my existence (first job out of college) and the onset of my new lip-lock with employment. The best part about not working – staying up late. Really late. So late that you are awake during the transition from one day to the next.

I’ve introduced muffins into my cage-free week. I love muffins; they call to me. And with the excusable feeling that I’m on vacation, I’m enjoying muffins without the guilt typically felt from the consumption of cake (that’s really all it is) for breakfast. Yesterday’s muffin was titled “Zucchini Bread Muffin” in the grab-it-yourself bakery at Whole Foods. How could anything be bad for you at Whole Foods, anyway? This morning’s oat bran muffin, purchased and enjoyed on the spot, was from a local café. The thing was loaded with whole grains and nutrients. Who am I kidding – I should have had two.

As I was nibbling on my oat bran muffin and sipping a soy café au lait, one after the other so as not to multi-task with food, save for dipping muffin pieces into the coffee, I read The Late Bloomer’s Revolution, a borrowed read from my sister. I was reckless in my consumption of oats and words, and muffin crumbs fell into the crease between pages 46 – 47. Story of my life.

“[Expletive!]” I muttered to myself, thinking that my sister was going to kill me. Did I mention that named book was also resting in a pool of soy infused caffeine just moments before, when I attempted to squeeze myself into a chair sandwiched between the table and a ‘slippery when wet’ floor sign. The sign wouldn’t budge, so my au lait took a fall. Better it than me.

Yesterday, Day 1 of unemployment, began with a Baptiste yoga class in Georgetown. Then, my sweaty self and plum colored yoga mat went shopping in the pretentious commercial district that is Georgetown. I anticipated a relaxing shopping atmosphere in contrast to a tourist-ridden Saturday spent browsing in Anthropologie. The shops were mainly empty, and while I didn’t have to concern myself with knocking over anyone (except maybe a mannequin) with the plum colored yoga mat slung across my back, I did have to contend with profoundly annoying salespeople.

I don’t like to be approached when shopping; I don’t like it one bit. It’s like a movie – please don’t speak to me during the show, not even the previews; I’ll explain what happened when the lights have come back on. Though, if I have a question, I feel completely justified to pose an inquiry with my movie companion, unless I’m cinematizing solo (best thing ever).

I almost became violent in the GAP. Five people greeted me and three wanted to start a fitting room for me. Why can’t I just hold my things? I just held my body suspended in chatturanga countless times in a room heated to 95 degrees. Dude – I can handle my own khakis.

On the way back to the Dupont Metro station, I ran into a co-worker who said that between me, her, “and the lamppost” she had just gone on a job interview. She then went into a monologue about her gripes with the company, motivations for wanting to leave, and other tidbits I would have paid money to not have to listen to. My first day of freedom and I’m locked into a visit with a former prisoner mate. What did I ever do to you (‘you’ could be a multitude of people/spirits)?