Today is the first Monday in six years that I haven’t had a job to go to. This fact has brought on an existential crisis. Am I self-employed or just unemployed? That is the question. Even my dog is a little confused to see me at home after eight and still in my pajamas. His stare is making me feel guilty, until I remember he spends his days sleeping, licking his balls and fetching his stick. I’ll be spending the rest of today contemplating the number 42.