The heat seeped in through the walls, and I hid from it underneath my bedsheets. It was two in the afternoon, and I had nowhere to be. It should have felt like freedom, like being the shining pearl of an oyster’s meaty center, having the world at my command with no responsibilities. That’s what my friends failed at convincing me when they were trying to cheer me up. Days dripped by like extended yawns. There was nothing that made time disappear the way laying in bed did. The lethargy crawled into my bones, and made stimuli painful and exhausting. I needed a job, but there weren’t any left. I could’ve sewn a blanket from the number of printed resumés strewn across my floor.
Was sewing a skill I could put on my resumé?
Cheers to the 100 Day Project,