EKING IT OUT

Before getting laid off in February, I’d held full-time office jobs since 2000, and I’d gotten accustomed to the rhythm of the workaday life—lulled by it, I realize in retrospect. But now, eking out a living is a patchwork affair. You get your mitts on an assignment and cherish it for all it’s worth, because as soon as it’s complete, you’re unemployed again. These days I’m taking everything I can get.

There’s freelance writing. In these six weeks I’ve written a book review, a guide to an actor’s DVD catalog, a jokey charticle, and a press release. (I’ve learned that it’s easier to write a book review than a press release.) I’m also reading entries in a screenplay competition, about one script a day. (I’ve learned that amateur screenwriters are not the best spellers.) And to promote a friend’s documentary I’m helping to run something called the Most Glamorous Pug contest. So far we’ve received more than 400 photos of pugs lovingly adorned by their owners. (I’ve learned that dog people are more fanatical than I ever imagined.)

I have three days a week in which to work, because I’m also looking after my son two days a week while my wife, who remains employed, earns the family salary. On a Tuesday morning we went to hear a singer named Lloyd Miller perform in a packed room of bubbly kids, moms, nannies, and the requisite two other dads. Miller did an awesome rockabilly version of “The Wheels on the Bus.” Today, walking my son to his first dentist appointment, the magnolias were in full bloom and I allowed myself to think, This sure beats working.

Still: If my wife loses her job, we’re screwed.

—Lawrence Levi