I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Puppy.
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Dear Puppy,
Last week, in an attempt to be the next Stephen King, I tried super-gluing Raft together to tap into my inner inspiration. Despite my threatening phone calls, angry fist shaking, and bribery attempts with Krispy Kreme donuts, the snot-faced publishers in New York insisted that I had to write the book before they would give me a contract. Asses! I don't know if you read a lot, Puppy, but writing books is hard! Especially if you don’t want them sold in grocery stores. As this bout of unemployment has turned my brain into superfluous bodily matter, and I often have trouble deciphering between my socks and toothbrush, I decided that my book author career must come to an end.
As my whale, alien raft excursion was in Virginia, and I did not make the millions of dollars I planned writing about my whale, alien raft excursion, I had no money to get back up to New York. Not wanting to ask my parents, I was determined to pay my own way back. So I decided to be a human courier. It worked! All I had to do was make my parents request a human courier from their house to New York to deliver an empty box to a fake address! It feels good to be independent, Puppy!
Sadly, upon arriving in New York, I realized I forgot where I live, or if I even live in New York at all. Dejected, I decided to go to the only redeeming place in the Upper East Side: Nope, there is nothing redeeming about the Upper East Side. So I went to the pet store, where I met you, Puppy. There you were, happily shaking your toy, licking your paw, eating food off the ground. I remember when I used to do that. It was last week.
I began to explain that it has been so long since I have done anything productive with my time. Much like you, Puppy, all I do is eat, run around in circles, sleep, and whine. How does one deal with such a simple existence? That’s when you explained the Theory of Puppy Time. The key is to leave out units. Times of high productivity are counted in dog years, while times of low productivity are counted in human years. For example, I have lived abroad for nearly 14 years, while I have been unemployment for less than a year. Idiot humans will believe both are in reference to human years, but the Puppies of the world will know the truth. Sorry, English-speaking Puppies. How insensitive of me.
This certainly alleviated my concerns about time. But what about location? I have been afflicted with unemployment so long, that I am liable to accept a job in some vile location, even the suburbs! Then what? I could tell by the look on your face that this had a more complicated answer.
Although most Puppies in America appear to be happy in their suburban oases, many shake their toys and lick their paws because these are the prescribed motions the members of Puppykind are told they are required to do. Most would have loved to live the high-power Executive Puppy’s life, or become a Player Puppy, a famous Puppy actor, or what have you. Unfortunately, life is all too often predictable. Even though some Puppies kid themselves into thinking they are famous or interesting because 45 other Puppies liked their Puppybook status about eating a muffin, most are caught in a rut. Your advice, Puppy, was to follow my dream. Don’t succumb to the monotony so many Puppies face. The time will come, even if it’s in human years.
Without time units,
Mala
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