The Killing Joke

My body is rebelling. After 5 years of drinking very strong coffee and patching myself together with pills and hot lemon drinks at the airport, I have gone completely cold turkey. I haven't had coffee for three weeks, and it's had a very negative effect on my brain. I walk around in a daze, in no rush to be anywhere, and with no desire to do anything. The first week of unemployment is a holiday, and then it deteriorates quickly.
My days are now loose and baggy. The job search is futile, and after three weeks, I only see the same ones, and with all my qualifications and university degrees, all I am suitable for is telesales or retail. The gift of life has been granted, but it is a cruel joke if a human has to spend the majority of it doing something he is fundamentally opposed to.
This opinion is exemplified when one looks at the rush hour traffic. I am often there, walking along the pavement and watching the faces of the cars that pass me. These are people locked into a daily ritual that they pretend is compulsory. They sit with frowns and grey cheeks as if it is not their choice to waste time in that situation. The joke of life hovers over them, and I'm sure they know it.
My problem lies within knowledge. I have done every bad job you can think of, and the knowledge of what these jobs entail leaves no optimism. As I am hunting for a job that I would be able to find some enjoyment in, all I can think about is money. I am not driven by the almighty dollar, and it's not what I seek in life, but as soon as there is nothing coming in my life is measured in cost. A friend asks me out for a drink, but what will it cost. An invite to dinner, but how much petrol will it use, or how much will the train ticket be?
Chasing a job is like chasing the cure for a disease that is killing you. As soon as the meagre amount of money that I have saved reaches zero then I have failed.
I feel this post is an accurate reflection of my current state of mind - it is badly written and nonsensical. It has taken much effort to cut through the fog of my brain and write this - so I hope it served something of a purpose...

Unemployed

For the last ten days I have been decompressing. The 26th July 2007 will be a historic date for me, as it was on that day my last ever shift at Manchester Airport took place. The actual day itself contained little of interest, and seemed to last forever, but I am out.
My term at the airport was as long as the Second World War and, in the same way those soldiers felt it, it has taken a large portion of my youth - all those missed nights out and anti-social bed-at-eight nights in (obviously not as bad as those nights spent in foxholes, but it's a loose comparison at best...). In recent months the airport has become intolerable, and I decided to leave lest the damage to my psychic state overtook my whole existence. I flung myself into the void of unemployment, yet I have no anxiety. The real, overarching truth is that I got out just in time and I am relieved it's over.
However, this record will continue, with a new name or without, I haven't decided. I shall always be the Airport Exile, my thousand-yard stare and pale skin will never vanish. I have to reajust to living the quotidian existence of the majority, and it will take some doing. I hate the rush hour, but now I seem unable to avoid it. How the hell does it last all day...?
I will continue to write here as I embark on a new phase of my life. I don't know where it will take me yet, but stay tuned.