The Unemployed

For the unemployed person the most trivial events and items begin to carry with them a heavy burden of expectation. Principally they offer relief from the daily troubles of unemployed life. Now those of you reading this who have a job, or indeed anything to do from day to day may well think “you what?! Do me a favour!?”

Perhaps it would be wise of me to dispel a few myths about the unemployed... Although the unemployed rarely have any pressing matters to deal with or even any actual occupational hazards to negotiate; the life of the unoccupied can be like a virtual prison cell. Despite the lack of concrete walls or clichéd steel bars to keep the unoccupied incarcerated, there exists a very real sense of imprisonment.

Thus a rather bizarre situation develops where the particularly conscientious (Anxious/hypochondriac) unemployed person can find himself feeling rather trapped. In being free to do almost anything with his time, the unemployed person may “choose” to worry about not doing anything. As the months pass and the seasons change, the stale rot of unemployment remains and festers. The unemployed asks himself “what am I to do if not work?”

Consequently the unemployed person attempts to fill his life with the most mundane trivial items read from a bafflingly blank agenda to avoid dealing with the crux of the matter. The crux of the matter being that we are procrastinating, we are ignoring the real issue, in fact we probably aren’t even aware of the reality we live in. Perhaps the clever bastards who have read Karl Marx may think that we are alluding to a slightly wider issue such as capitalist society causing man’s alienation from his true self? To that I say “please sirs, I am but a poor humble unemployed person, and although I may well have read Marx before, I cannot rightly remember on account of being unemployed for so very long (one month four days thirteen minutes).

The above cartoon is sourced from http://www.the405club.com/post/235966518/best-unemployment-comics

Anyway... the interminable stay of execution of the unemployed can seem long. So as I was saying, it can be wise to fill the time with “exciting” and “meaningful” activities such as waking up just in time for the 11am instalment of “Made in Chelsea”. Programmes such as this begin to carry  an unspeakable significance. There significance can be measured by the following irrefutable fact: far far away hidden behind immovable mountains, thoughtful monks utter words such as this “Ollie is bisexual...”

Of Course it’s all bollocks, to tell you the truth I just got carried away, “Made in Chelsea” doesn’t mean a thing. But my delusions make me happy; it can be fun to be tricked by the illusion of consumerist culture. After all it gives me something to do, a sense of being occupied for the unoccupied.