Lately I’d become obsessed with sewing stuffed animals. I’d seen a bear in a store and thought it was cute, so I went to a hobby shop and noticed they were selling kits that included the yarn, needles, and other little things you’d need to make them. It seemed to be a thing. I made a frog that very evening, went back the next day, and bought more kits: a dog, an elephant, a cat … I made one every night until I’d made them all. Then I just bought yarn and felt and some buttons to use for eyes; I’d figured out the trick to it after about the fourth kit, so I wanted to try out my own designs. But apparently I’d lost any ounce of creativity I’d ever possessed, and the hippopotamus I sewed didn’t turn out the slightest bit cute. So I went to a bookstore, bought a Pokémon handbook, and then made one Pocket Monster after another, starting with Pikachu. I was so into my new activity that I forgot to sleep, forgot to eat, and out came Monster after Monster: Jigglypuff, Togepi, Psyduck, Bulbasaur, Charmander, Squirtle, Eevee … but soon enough, I got bored with them too. So, thinking I’d try my hand at making a stuffed version of my PostPet, Momo, I turned on my computer for the first time in a while and saw that there were more than twenty emails waiting in my inbox. 

I’d been obsessed with PostPets at one point, too—these little animal characters who deliver your email. Most of my messages were from “e-friends” I’d made on the PostPet site; I didn’t know their real names and had never seen their faces. Their animals—bears, turtles, hamsters—would appear and disappear, leaving letters behind. The messages themselves weren’t of any importance, but the point was to make your Pets deliver and receive messages, so while I was never particularly gratified, I was never particularly disappointed, either. But that day, waiting there in my inbox was a bear named “Momotaro from Asuka’s House.” 

“I’ll be in Shinjuku next Saturday shopping for the Bon Festival, do you want to grab lunch?” Counting forward from the date on the email, “next Saturday” would be tomorrow. Maybe I should call, I thought, but I remembered how busy she was and decided to email a reply instead. “Whenever and wherever is fine by me.” Asuka called less than two hours later. 

“It’s been so long! How are you doing? I never got a reply, so I figured you were busy and decided not to bother you.” She seemed still unused to the idea that I had nothing but free time on my hands. 

“I wasn’t busy. How could I be? I don’t do anything.” 

I’d meant to say it lightly, but Asuka went silent, seemingly at a loss. I hurried to explain myself. 

“The thing is, last week I got wrapped up in doing something and it started to affect my sleep, so I fell behind on checking my email. It wasn’t a job or anything, but still.” 

“What was it?” 

“I’m sewing stuffed animals! Some of them have turned out really well, I’d love to show you.” 

There was no answer. I pretended not to notice and chattered on. “What time should we meet tomorrow? I’ll fit myself into your schedule.” 

Asuka sighed. “I don’t know whether to be happy or sad, hearing that from you of all people.”

We decided on a time and place. I found that I was neither particularly happy nor particularly sad. I just felt vacant. 

At first, the descriptor “Unemployed, Age 34” had sounded almost like a criminal charge, but I’d gotten used to it soon enough. Indeed, my ability to adjust so easily appalled me. Now I inhabited the identity—since revised to “Unemployed, Age 36”—body and soul. 

It had been two years since my husband told me he was divorcing me, which, since we ran his company together, meant I ended up losing my job too. Naturally, I reacted badly, but the period of angry protests and crying jags was really quite short, and I acquiesced to receiving my settlement and removing my name from the family register with an ease that surprised even myself. 

And so this life of mine, this life of uncertainty, simply continued, my state never dipping all the way into depression or desperation. Looking out the window from where I lay in bed, I could see the tall buildings outside shrouded by falling rain. It was July, but the rains had persisted. 

Six months earlier, I’d been obsessed with making elaborate outfits for teddy bears, and had ended up giving all of them to Asuka for her kids. It occurred to me that I could do the same with the Pokémon I was making, but the moment it did, I felt myself losing my will to create any more. I’d always run hot and cold, but now that my life was one of endless leisure, this tendency had gotten much worse. Giving yourself over to any old urge feels good, though. It was even possible that, against all odds, I was happy. 

The next day, I had lunch with Asuka in a restaurant located among the tall buildings I could see from my window. “This is for your little girl,” I said, handing her a paper bag stuffed with a Pokémon I’d made, but she didn’t seem as grateful as when I’d given her the teddy bear outfits. 

“Oh! It’s Pikachu, from Pokémon … uh, wow! Are you sure it’s all right for me to take it home?” 

“Oh, I just made it to kill time, you know.” 

I hadn’t sewn the thing with anyone in mind and was even thinking of getting rid of it on garbage day, so if she quietly threw it out, it made no difference to me. 

Asuka was a childhood friend, the only one from elementary school I still had. A working mother of two, she’d switched from part-time to full now that her youngest had started school, but she made room in her schedule to meet me every so often anyway. Before, I’d been the one who’d had trouble finding the time. 

“How are you? You’re looking a bit thin.”

“Really?” 

“Your color’s not good.” 

“I’m not wearing any makeup, that’s all.” 

I knew how bedraggled I must look, sitting there in this restaurant filled with tables draped in pure white cloth and decked out with cutlery of real silver. Asuka was simply dressed, in a summer-weight sweater set; her hair was neatly done and her makeup exquisite; a pearl necklace shone from her open collar. I was wearing a faded tee and a pair of cargo pants that were stretched out around the waist. I no longer bought clothes I couldn’t just throw into the washing machine. Asuka should have been the exhausted one, but there I was, not even bothering to hide the dark circles under my eyes. 

“Are you still collecting unemployment?” 

“Oh, no. That ended a while ago.”