An Open Letter to...

Dear Unemployment,

We don’t know each other that well, so let's not make this any harder than it has to be. My name is Sasha Lewis, and I need you to let me go. It's that simple. You wont miss me, I swear. I have a lot of experience in being let go - and trust me, it's always for the better, and rarely does anyone give it a second thought.

I mean, what exactly are you accomplishing by continuing to hang around? It can’t possibly be entertaining for you. Do you think you’re raining on my parade or something? Because I have never had, nor been part of, any parade. Maybe you think you’re keeping me from participating in the activities that I enjoy? Well FYI, I've smoked way more pot and eaten way more chocolate since you came around than I did before we ever met. And not only was I able re-watch (yeah, that’s right, I said RE watch) America's Next Top Model Cycles 1 and 2, but I also got to RE watch (that’s right, I said it again) Cycles 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 as well. (And you know what 7 rhymes with, right? Heaven, mmhmm.) And what’s more, I never even liked paying rent, so that’s not an issue either. Sure, I had to move back to Tucson to live with my parents, but there's always food in the fridge, $10 to borrow, and all the movie channels a girl could dream of. So hey, it's not so bad.

I know what you're thinking right now. You're wondering why I would ask to be let go if I seem to be enjoying your presence so much. Well, the truth of the matter is that I don't have an answer for that. A little spending money wouldn’t hurt though. I'm low on lip gloss, and could use a new pair of sneakers and a few new books to scatter around the house so that people think I’m well educated. And I know I said I don't like paying rent, but my roommate, Kirsten, well she really, really likes [read: LOVES] when I do pay rent - so I probably should throw down a little something something, just for her. Ya know? (BTW - she's unemployed too. But it's cool if you keep her on your team, her Jewish boyfriend is super rich.)

And yes, I do know that there are millions of people out there who have put in way more time with you than I have (I'm pretty sure my dad has been a member of your club for the last thirty years) and some of them probably deserve to get out of the big black hole of eviction, credit card debt, and utter hopelessness that you’ve sunk them into, way more than I do (however I am not referring to the ones that gamble, drink excessively and do hard drugs. Or the ones that vote Republican. I definitely should get to go ahead of them.). Again, I have no real response to that, I just need you to know that I’m aware of the situation. You know what I else I need to you know? That I need a fucking job, you little bitch. There are a million more fish in the sea, big U - I think you even have an appointment scheduled with my brother for late next week – you don’t need me taking up space.

If that still doesn't convince you to free me from your sweaty, calloused, life-ruining, demon hands, then just remember this: I have all the time in the world to sit here, in my air conditioned bungalow, on the purple leather couch (not joking), watching a DVR overflowing with Degrassi episodes, to write you a letter each and every day. And they will just get longer and longer and more and more annoying and you will have to read them all just because I said so. They will be filled with grammatical errors and written illegibly by hand, in red ball point pen, on wide ruled notebook paper without the perforated edges. You don't want that. No one wants that.

Well, I guess that sums it up, Sir. I hope you’ll consider forgetting about me, for the time being. At least for the summer. Don’t be sad, I’m almost positive we’ll see each other again soon.

Vodka,
Sasha Lewis