Putz

to spend time in an aimless or idle manner

I’ve been putzing around a lot.

I quit my corporate job to have more time for myself and to pursue my dreams. This was a little over two months ago. Now, two months in to life in the red, I get anxious to leave the house because inevitably, somehow, against my will or better judgement, I spend at least $30. The living in New York tax.

Confined to my house by economics, I keep wandering from room to room, looking for inspiration. Picking up my phone is a reflex now—I am supposed to be on Instagram to a degree because of a part-time gig I’m doing for an independent publisher as their social media coordinator, but who am I kidding? Scrolling through clips of old Key and Peele skits isn’t billable time. I read some—a chapter here and there. I usually have three or so books going at once to cater to my different reading moods, but lately, this arrangement makes me only half invested in any story. I pop in and out of narratives, and it’s careless.

At least I work in a bookstore now. I did do that for myself. I submitted my resume to a handful of independent bookstores in my neighborhood and was lucky that one responded. This is a gratifying experience—it gets me out of the house, and I make money by doing so. I get to spend three days a week in my favorite environment surrounded by people who share this with me. But even there, there’s a whole lot of putzing. I wander from one shelf to the next, shifting books to make space for new ones, alphabetizing and realphabetizing, drifting back to the register, exchanging a few words with the steady flow of customers. The day floats by, and it is pleasant, but not any different from the rhythm of my life at home.

March faded, and April is fading already, and I feel happier than I ever did at my corporate job but also still vague and muted. I need a shock to my system, or maybe just a goal.

I need to go for a walk. Do some street haunting as Virginia Woolf put it. I guess I’ll still be putzing, but if I expand the boundaries of my putzing, maybe I’ll feel less blurred.