My idea of "unemployed" is: sits on butt all day changing TV channels.
Unemployed does not mean: doing work and getting paid for said work.
Now, there is under-employed, but it's not the same thing.
So, someone says "You can't pay for dinner, you're unemployed," I gently correct him, say I'm self-employed (again, under-self-employed right now, but still making money, and enough to live, I might add). But wait. He's self-employed, too. Actually, all of us at the dinner table were self-employed to varying degrees of success. Where is this argument even coming from?
(None of us are homeless or wearing rags; therefore I dub us successful.)
I sort of let slip I was a tiny bit offended. He brushed it off...then did it again, when I gave him his birthday gift. For the briefest instant his eyes lit up -- it was the game he wanted! -- then he shut down: "You can't buy me this, you don't have a job!"
You might as well have jabbed me with a needle; I deflated on the spot.
Clearly, someone needs to learn to accept gifts gracefully.
"It was cheap," I said curtly. "Happy birthday." And then I left.
It was cheap. 14 bucks, all told, from Amazon, with free shipping.
I went home and promptly puked up dinner, lunch and the froyo I'd picked at (strawberries and all...ew), then collapsed into bed.
I woke up feeling quite good, all things considered. Not sure what I picked up yesterday. I was attributing my distress to cramps, but Great Leader's Midol chased those away, so maybe I was harboring some sort of infectious disease that has now left the system? More importantly, is it safe to eat again?
Hmmm.
Anyway. Back to the case at hand.
It is not The Contractor that I'm angry at, specifically; it's that I'm evidently only worth whatever useless 9-5 job I'm presently holding down. My father did it, too: "Have you filed for unemployment yet?"
"I can't file for unemployment. You don't get it if you quit."
"What if it's that hostile work environment?"
"Besides, any money I make freelancing gets taken out of it."
"I think you should look into it."
"Why?"
"Because you're unemployed."
"I have an email from PayPal saying I'm not."
"What's PayPal?"
Facepalm with me, peeps.
I'm trying not to take offense. I am. Dad I can sort of explain away; he's from the generation where you worked for a company, and that was that. I guess what also bugs me is that people stare at me in horror if I get, say, a tall Starbucks drink (oh noes!!!!! I'm out 2.75!!!!!!) and murmur, "Shouldn't you be saving that?" (For the record, Starbucks happens once a week, maximum.)
I guess what I wonder is, do they think all my brain cells went out the door when I left The Cesspit? Am I no longer capable of judging whether I can afford a tiny latte, or a cheap video game for a friend, or my rent? There were times in college when I had zero in my bank account. Zero. Believe me, I'll know when I can't do something frivolous. I am in a position right now where I don't have to live like a total hermit. That's not to say I'm not spending sensibly, but I can afford a damned present for a friend.
And a latte.
That may change. Business may not work out. But them's the breaks.
Maybe I'm being over-sensitive about all this. When I was laid off in 2009, I had sort-of been seeing a particular dude for a little bit. There wasn't much to him; he was cute, he was there, we had drinks occasionally. I always paid my way. I paid my way this time, too, and mentioned I'd been sacked.
He immediately powered away. "I don't date moochers," he explained. I'm still not sure whether he meant I was mooching off the system by collecting unemployment, or if he just didn't make a habit of dating people without a job because they'd mooch off him for dinner, or what.
I think mostly it's the assumption that I suddenly am not intelligent enough to gauge whether I can afford something or not. I question my own intelligence and worth on a daily basis. I don't need my friends and family members doing it for me.
Anyway, Little Miss Self-Employed needs to get back to work now. Peace!
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