Being your own boss. Wearing pajamas until noon. Blasting music. Watching daytime soaps on mute and making up your own story line. A dream I tell you.
But there comes a time when days meld into weeks and weeks turn into half a year, and you start feeling like you’ve started your 13th semester as a college senior. When landing temporary work isn’t celebrated, but given the “good, now find more where that came from” look.
It’s the time you realize you may have over-extended your stay and that you may have to leave the comfort zone of your make-shift office that is just a computer desk with a chair.
CUE MUSIC: TWILIGHT ZONE THEME
It is entirely another dimension. A dimension unknown to James Cameron and his 3-D glasses. It is a dimension as empty as space and as timeless as the blinking microwave after a power outage. It is the middle ground between employment and un-, between waiting for payment and submitting a claim for the week you didn’t work. It lies between the fear of leaving the house and the awareness that the Miami Herald Sunday paper renewal is due and it is 80 bucks.
This is the dimension our minds enter when we need to reevaluate our life decisions. The decisions that led us to this moment in time. It is an area which we call The Finding your Purpose in Pajamas Zone.
FADE MUSIC, BEGIN CREDITS
Hardly able to move, the young protagonist lies in bed, face down with two ice packs on her back. While she waits for the timer to ring, she takes advantage of being in her pajamas to let her mind wonder into The Finding your Purpose in Pajamas Zone.
END CREDITS, CUE MUSIC: QUEEN LATIFAH’S WEEKEND LOVE
PAJAMA MAMA (VOICE OVER):
Is what you do in life destiny? Like are you destined to work at a bank because it is written in the holy book of careers? Is there even such a thing as destiny? Was I meant to work from home? I think I’m really good at it. I’m a home worker. I like the sound of that. I’m a freelancer. Maybe I can French it up: Je suis fwee-liahan-ceiur, ho, ho, ho.
Man, all this time at home, I would’ve learned French. Or Mandarin, so I can finally decipher my tattoo. I mean, I must have been laid-off for a reason. I was supposed to be home for something. Writing novels, learning languages, painting, sculpting, getting a veterinary tech certificate, saving the world, inventing new feminine products. If I go back to work outside of my house, what will I have to show for this time? Twenty pounds, a back injury and a Twitter addiction?
Maybe I should stay right here. Right here at home. Safe in my pajamas.
At least until I can find a job that can envelope me in money, the same way my pajamas hug me ever so warmly. Then I’d drop my pajamas like it’s hot.
Damn, that ice is cold.
TIMER RINGS, FADE MUSIC