On Redundancy

The sound track to my life has changed. Instead of hearing the regular ring of the phone, the click of the telephone exchange announcing the call, I hear a howl of a lonely dog, brief snatches of chatter as people walk up and down the road and the regular hum of aircraft passing overhead.

Next-doors cat slumbers on my knee, thrilled to have a warm lap to curl up on. I perch my laptop awkwardly next to me on the sofa. In this new life I have no desk, or at least, not one where I can use a computer as the internet connection is behind the TV.

My to-do-list, once noted in my work diary instead scans through my mind. Where once my clients squatted, they have now been evicted, replaced by shouts such as 'new job'; 'de-clutter'; 'washing'.

Where once I felt tired but full of life, I now feel restless, anxious, bereft. Everything has changed. And yet, the only thing that has is that I don't have a job. Nothing else. Odd, isn't it? You think it doesn't define you, but, on some level, I think it must.