Britt Baker

Small Kitten

I’m tucked into my windowsill wondering what mundane day it is today. I romantically fashion it to be a Monday because that would mean my line up of shows would be on tonight and I could drift into what is best described as a glazed over snack grabbing goblin. For two hours I can justify my sin of sloth because I am helping actors line their pockets with my viewership. It’s a societal contribution, I promise you cannot tell me otherwise. However, it is not Monday, it is Thursday. Thursday is a minimal activity day, for I am unemployed and have been for several months. Thursday is when I open the laptop as if it were the door of a confessional giving myself silent congratulations every week for executing the task. Thursdays are important because I have to complete my online unemployment questionnaire. I log in type in my name and password, I don’t trust google so I never save it. I don’t look at the questions anymore since I have them memorized. “Have you been looking for work this week?” Yes of course as I snicker and roll my eyes and click “No.” “Are you injured or impaired in any way that prevents you from looking for employment?” I always click yes, because I find my personality to be a people repellent, but they have yet to classify it as a legitimate ailment. I write that I have depression because they can’t tell you that your depression is false. There are a couple more questions that I answer yes, no, yes to and submit. Whatever they are I must be answering them correctly because I keep getting paid.