It has been 422 days since I last had a job, which means I've been unemployed for more than a year—longer than some people have had jobs.
But who's counting?
Mom is definitely counting.
Shortly after my “303 Days” piece, Mom knew something definitely was up when I was without an automobile for the two months my car was stolen, and I wasn’t buying matching Teslas for my mother and myself.
“Are… you working?”1
“I’m not, ma. How did you know?”
“Mothers know if something is going on with their children. Especially their sons. Also, you’re here at my house at noon on a Tuesday, and I don’t have a doctor’s appointment today.”
And then, a pause. “Well… I guess I will cook dinner for us then. You mentioned hiring an aide for me; no need. We need to save money.”
“Ma, YOU KNOW that’s not the same as—”
She waves me off and fuck me, right? The conversation …
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