The physical remnants of the past 13 years of my working life lie scattered on the kitchen table.
The cutlery tray I used in my drawer to organise my stationery. A place for my pens to be divided from highlighters, paper clips, post-it pads and an emergency nail file. A pile of note pads and scrawled notes, reminders about procedures and things I had to do.
A couple of mugs, one for pens and scissors, one for hot chocolate. Folders of instructional manuals that are long superseded. Business cards. A stapler and a hole punch. And an odd little collection of trinkets/memories that I couldn't throw away at the
time for whatever reason.
I emptied the box onto the kitchen table last night.
I had thrown my spare keys in there a few days ago and listened as they had rattled to the bottom of the box, and I had to retrieve them. So I figured I may as well empty the whole darn thing and deal with it, instead of stepping around the box in my crowded bedroom for the next month or more until motivation kicked in.
And now.
This morning.
The physical remnants of the past 13 years of my working life remain scattered on the kitchen table...
As a reminder that I am unemployed.
For the first time in over twenty years I don't have a job.
A reminder this morning that I have nowhere to go. Or rather, nowhere that I have to be, with no routine to speak of.
A reminder that I am not on holiday.
This is not a day of rest.
That today, there are things that have to be done.
and sorting out the stuff on the kitchen table is my first job of many.
