On May 5, somewhat unexpectedly, I found myself out of a job after over five years of hard work and dedication. I’m not one to sit around and munch on sour grapes, and in our current economy, I’m just one grain of sand awash in a sea of recent lay-offs. Still, no one likes to be handed the proverbial pink slip, especially when your severance package is but a pittance. There are all kinds of things you take for granted when you have a full-time job with benefits. This morning, my roommate’s cranky cat bit my hand, and I drowned the bite in hydrogen peroxide immediately. I don’t know if cat scratch fever is real, but without medical insurance, I’m not taking any chances.

Being the good gay man that I am, the first thing I did was to call my mother. Mom has been at her job for almost thirty years. She is from a generation that largely believes that you find a job and stick with it no matter what, depositing as many pennies as you can into the piggy bank. Regarding money matters, you’d never know I am my mother’s son. I believe that for every dollar you earn, fifty cents goes for your monthly bills; a quarter goes for fun money; a quarter goes to ebay for fabulous new drag; and a dime goes for paying off credit card debt. I know that adds up to more than one dollar, and that’s my problem. Mom always says that I have champagne tastes and a beer budget. Fortunately, I stopped drinking four months ago, so at least I don’t have to worry about paying for the champagne.

Being unemployed is not a shameful thing for me, like it is for many people. It’s amazing to me how many people define themselves primarily by their careers. I hate how at parties, the first question someone asks you after you’re introduced is "What do you do for a living?" I sometimes want to respond, "I breathe." Or maybe, "I pluck the fur from road kill and sell it to make false eyelashes." In my second favorite book and a wonderful guide for living, The Little Prince, the title character marvels at the shallowness of people. He argues that one’s favorite color is much more revealing than one’s job choice. Perhaps I’ll test this theory at the next party I attend. Wouldn’t a new acquaintance think you’re much more fun if you asked "Have you ever danced naked in the rain?" rather than, "What do you do for a living?" Author Anna Quindlen, like the little prince, laments how we lose our souls in the workaday world. She writes about the importance of having unstructured "do nothing" time. When she was a child, she learned the most when she wasn’t busy with a play date or a chore or homework, but when she was free to explore her home, the woods outside, and her own head and heart. I now have forty more hours per week to explore, and I’m loving every minute of it. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on the first thirty years of my life, and I have to say that I’m pretty proud of myself because I’m a caring, confident individual, not because I have a big bank account or a gold watch for years of service to a company.

What else have I learned in my time off? I’ve learned that I have no idea how I used to accomplish so much in one week. How did I ever manage forty-plus hours in an office, one or several performances, my freelance writing, my volunteer activities, laundry, shopping, cooking, and cleaning? I’ve also learned that cats really do spend sixteen hours of the day sleeping, and when they’re not sleeping, they’re looking for trouble, peeing in the wrong places and sampling the flowers on the dining room table. I’ve learned that large doses of caffeine are a great way to keep you up half the night and send you into a near-coma when you’re coming down from your hyper high. I’ve learned that game shows make you smarter, Unsolved Mysteries can scare you sleepless, I’m more like Rose than any other Golden Girl, and that Judge Judy is a bossy bitch. Fear not, though, loyal readers of Letters. I’m not always popping potato chips, prostrate on the couch, letting my mind go to mush. I’ve also renewed my library card and my driver’s license. From those two experiences, I learned that libraries have the gall to charge you for books you’ve kept for a few measly years, and thankfully, you don’t have to update your weight with the Department of Motor Vehicle along with your license. I’m focusing on my creative talents by performing often as my alter ego Anita Mann and making drag costumes to sell on ebay. From the latter endeavor, I’ve learned that Rit fabric dye works wonders not only on gowns but also on your body. As I sit here typing this column, the faint blue stains on my upper limbs make me look like I have more popping veins in my arms than the governor of California. Who knows where the coming months will take me? Hopefully, not to a cardboard box under the 4th Street bridge. I have a college degree with a major, a minor, a concentration, an advanced honors certificate, and study abroad experience. I have experience in management, education, performance, and writing. I have a resume that’s pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. But most of all, cliché as it may sound, I have a positive attitude and a determination to mold my life into something I love and of which I am proud. I think the little prince, Anna Quindlen, my mother—and even Judge Judy—would agree that’s the most important thing.