I have never lost a job—until 2017. For more than a decade, since graduating college, I have held down steady employment and left on my own terms for better prospects—until 20-god damn-17. I have ventured into new fields and foreign career paths and survived—until 20-fire-breathing-hell-demon-17. I have withstood days in which I thought I would be gently removed from jobs and gone on to thrive in those jobs—until 20-seeping-rotting-stinking-pustule-on-a-dead-rat’s-back-17.

I can’t say many things for certain these days, and if I were able to travel back in time and warn my former self, I sure as hell wouldn’t have easily described the three-day shitstorm that took place in mid-January, which carried out as follows:

Jan. 17: Informed that my company would be making severe financial cutbacks, forcing some to lose their full-time jobs.

Jan. 18: Informed my job would be safe.

Jan. 19, 1 p.m.: Again informed my job would be safe.

Jan. 19, 3 p.m.: Informed that my company had lost a major contract I was working on and my job was no longer safe.

Jan. 20, 10:30 a.m.: Informed my girlfriend’s company laid off dozens of people including her.

Jan. 20, 11 a.m.: Informed Donald J. Trump actually did it and was inaugurated as the 45th president of the United States.

…

Fuck 2017.

Aside from learning that tens of millions of people can be conned to elect a sentient circus peanut into our nation’s highest office, nearly two months of unemployment has revealed to me the chaotic range of emotions that bombard one’s psyche in these times.

In the weeks since the circuit peanut set in motion the coming end of days, I have applied for about 100 jobs, participated in about 10 phone or in-person interviews, finished two video games, had daily conversations with my pets, and discovered the joys of sweatpants.

It is with no joy at all that I divulge my experience thus far—from within the walls of my home, which I hope to keep, because I like having a place to put my stuff, and I need a place to talk to my pets—in the hopes that you might find some comfort in knowing what awaits the recently unemployed.

Shock

You will feel shocked after losing your job. Not in a “how could this happen?” sorta way. More like a “wait, what do I do?” sorta way. Having never lost a job before, upon learning that I had lost my job, I asked my former employer what the next steps were, because I honestly had no idea. Was I supposed to sign something? Were grief counselors waiting to nurture and console me? Would there be cake, and if so, could it be chocolate?

Quickly, I realized that there are three logistical steps to losing one’s job.

Stop showing up for work. You will be paid for the time you worked. You will no longer be paid … also repeat Step 1.

The shock really kicks in after a few days, when you realize that there’s no pageantry to losing a job. You just stay home. What you do from there is up to you, just don’t expect any ticker tape, unless you have some lying around, in which case you are free to sadly throw from the comfort of your own living room.

It might momentarily entertain your pets.

Optimism

Your first few days of searching for work are almost blissful. Despite your utterly bleak predictions, you start to see that the job market isn’t as dreary as you’d imagined. Actually, there are some damn fine positions available, and you’re very much qualified. You might even come out the other side with a better, more fulfilling job. And you’ll have one hell of a resilience story to casually drop at all those fancy cocktail parties you’ll be attending in celebration of your next big promotion.

Make sure to keep a pair of adult diapers nearby, there is a 97 percent chance you will joyfully excrete something after scoring your first interview.

Confusion

Silence is your enemy. Silence will slowly carve away any semblance of optimism you had. Silence will strip you bear, slap you around, and leave you in the cold and the rain to suffer.

After the initial wave of joyous optimism at all your potential job prospects, you will pathetically check your phone and refresh your inbox and compulsively await any word from the outside world until each buzz of an email notification renders you clinically dead for three seconds.

You will simultaneously assume that you have been rejected for that job and cling to the hope that your next boss is penning your amazing job offer. You will entertain ridiculous thoughts and schemes to give yourself another nudge to the top of the list. You will write emails to hiring manager “just checking in after your interview/application” and never send them … then you will send some of them anyway.

You will hear nothing and it will drive you mad.

Desperation

As you patiently (rip out all of your hair) wait to hear back after what you thought was a great interview, you will begin to loosen your standards a little. That not-quite-your-cup-of-tea job you decided to skip before will suddenly tempt you. Your once steadfast belief that you are worthy of an exceptional career will slacken a bit and you’ll politely gag that youthful inner voice that once told you “fuck the man” and “I’ll never sell out.”

After enough silence from all those jobs you thought you had in the bag, you’ll be willing to juggle dildos for Kanye if there’s a steady paycheck in it.

Determination

“No! No! No!” you say. “I will get through this. I will be better for it. I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!”

Suddenly you’re penning cover letters that would make Hunter S. Thompson proud (you tell yourself). You’re taking the time to learn new skills and gain new knowledge because you have years of experience and the pluck and moxie and grit to do anything.

You devour industry knowledge and shit marketable skills.

Yes! You are the multi-talented rockstar who thrives in a fast-paced environment that all those hiring managers were talking about.

Finally, things are going to be OK again.

Alcohol

You turn to alcohol before realizing that alcohol is expensive and Rainier tastes like shit.

Boredom

The average employee puts in about eight hours a day. The average unemployed spends an average of 16 hours per day trying to conjure ways to fill 16 hours per day.

Second only to the silence from the jobs that don’t want you is the boredom that won’t leave you. Even if you deduct the time it takes to search for jobs, apply for jobs, tweak your cover letter, read the local news, read the national news, drink your morning coffee, poop after your morning coffee and read more of the national news from the toilet, check your email for job responses, do your 30-minute yoga routine with the absurdly peppy YouTube yoga instructor, finally build that Japanese spaceship model you bought last year, finally start writing that novel you told yourself you would write if only you had the time, coo over how cute the cat is when she’s sleepy, take the dog for a walk, and check your email again, you still have approximately 15 hours left to fill. (Confession: I’m guilty of all of these.)

Days are long for the unemployed and you will find yourself pining for the stressful, busy days at work you used to dread. You would love to leverage all of that free time, but you soon realize that doing things costs money, so you take on micro projects and wait for one of them to start producing cash.

That’s It

According to that other list of seven stages, the last stage after losing a loved one is acceptance. And though I’m sure you’d like a ray of sunshine and puppies and meadows in which to bask, I’m sorry to say that you’re shit outta luck.

I got nothing. Being unemployed sucks.

Despite my snarky, cynical outlook on this situation, I do have one positive piece of advice to impart: Eggs are really cheap and pretty enjoyable any time of day.

So there’s that.