The thought being unemployed

If I were to quit, I'd join the super duperly underestimated few who finally mustered up the courage to call a spade an opportunity.

I wouldn't get an SMS update confirming my salary credit, I wouldn't have an annual performance review. I wouldn't need to have inane dialogue exchanges with clients who are as determined as much as or probably more than you to ensure they introduce 'coinages of the unheard', corporate spiel that will send you yelping into the corner of the board room.

Being me, I wouldn't need to return the favour.

No more negotiating costs. No repitch, re-evaluate or resubmit.

Bright ideas will never be shot, maimed or disfigured ever again. Life as it were would turn toward the sun.

Office politics would be amusing anecdotes from stress infested dinner guests, friends who need a space to be, and sundry. Creative thought would surface and breathe. Severance would take on a whole new meaning.

To think about unemployment at this juncture in my life, is amusing. I don't have stashes saved up, I do not have a trust fund. And I will admit my self confidence is peppered with a feeling on unease, only because it is a learnt vice - the dependence on money.

To feel the crunch of notes as you smooth them out over a counter at the grocery store, the little piece of you that sails across a credit card slip when you sign away a week's pay over eggs, silk, leather or soap. It's all of that and more.

The thought manifested when I slid in two dirham coins into the parking ticket machine. Two seconds later, it was spat out with a curt reminder to check the fee for three hours, I had slipped by three more.

My journey has reached another enlightening pitstop. The fear that money creates within your being is an indispensable rot that gnaws at your very core. Beyond bones, feeling, and ability. My battle has ensued; and I'm close to winning it. Close, but not there yet.