Not Being

On Monday, he wasn't. He wasn't not in the sense that he wasn't at all, indeed he was quite aware that he wasn't, but if someone were to be looking for him, they could look right where he wasn't and not find him. There wasn't anybody he was very eager to see, so this suited him just fine.
It didn't please his employer, who fired him for not being at work. He wasn't being at home all day, and was vaguely aware of the message left on his answering machine about the firing. He had considered not being at work, but decided it wasn't worth the effort since nobody would know he wasn't there anyway.
He thought not being all day would be relaxing, but he was mistaken. Whenever he was aware that he wasn't he worried about all manner of things, from his rent to whether or not the milk had soured. Even when he wasn't, he still wasn't very happy. He eventually slipped into daydreams that were, frightening his neighbors considerably and causing a lot of confusion in the neighborhood.
Not being was, for him, much like sitting down for an evening of mindless entertainment only to rediscover that mindlessness isn't at all entertaining. He tried, during one of his more aware moments in the afternoon, to tidy up a bit, but not being, couldn't. He found his inability to impact the world around him slightly frustrating, but it didn't bother him much. Between being overruled and ignored, he didn't have much of an impact on things when he was. That he wasn't didn't seem to change things. Not being was so close to how he normally existed that when he was again, he wasn't aware of it.