It’s 6:30. I’m in my warm bed, half-listening to the steady hum of traffic outside. Those people hurrying past must be on their way to the office or out to a job site—early commuters starting. As comfortable as I am here, there’s a small pang of envy; I’d like a job, but not just any position. It would need to be something I genuinely enjoy doing. Ideally it would be computer-based, or any kind of work that can be done from home. I’m not actively searching right now, and I know I can’t expect an opportunity to simply land in my lap. It’s been years since I last held a job, and in the past I would always end up quitting or getting fired.
I never treated ANY job with respect. I’ve had my fair share of employment when I was younger when my brain wasn’t working right—McDonalds, IGA, Coles, Woolworths, Mission Australia. Some of these roles were even management positions. I wish I had put more effort into Coles; I might be further up the ladder now, but I became sick and there was little I could do about it. I quit for the second time at Coles. I worked there, badly, and left. I went to Woolies, didn’t like it, so I crawled back to Coles and took the same job I had before I walked out. I did occasional work with my dad on the building site, which I loathed, and I even did half of my pre-apprenticeship in carpentry, which I hated even more than being on site.
I’m getting older and have settled into my current lot in life, accepting the limitations that come with it. It’s a life that probably won’t last very much longer anyway. I have too many health problems to hold down regular work; I simply couldn’t manage it. In addition to a list of chronic disabilities, I’m dealing with gout at the moment, which flares a couple of times a year. Something as simple as that can put me out of commission for a week, as I’m barely able to walk during an attack. My mental illness also interferes with everything I want to do—there are brief respites of a few hours now and then, but it usually returns, especially later in the day. I couldn’t handle a physically demanding job because I’m so unfit and my body won’t sustain it.
Nope. I prefer listening to the poor souls who are going to jobs that, in most cases, steal their sense of self. People don’t have many options, though — they need to put food on the table. The problem is much bigger than that. Grocery prices are out of control, fuel costs are the highest I’ve seen, and utilities — especially power — have in some cases doubled. Mortgage or rent is almost undoable for most people; even a one‑bedroom apartment is too expensive for the average earner. Then there’s the new car you need to get to work so you can pay for the house, pet insurance, the latest phone, registration, health cover — in my case doctors and medication — plus streaming services and the internet. And after all that, people still have children to care for. I’m fortunate to have been able to move back in with my folks, where I pay a little rent and, outside of a few ongoing payments, I’m able to save some coin. I’ve already written a blog about all of this, so I won’t repeat every detail here.