Whew. What a day that Wednesday was.
It began with me wondering how in the world I would have time to get two columns and some blogging done, then write a feature about pets and people and it ended with me wondering if I'd ever work again.
"RIFFED." Or maybe "RIFed." I'm not sure about the correct form but I do know that it stands for "reduction in force" and in the minds of the people who perform it, it's completely different from "sacked" or "canned." In the eyes of the people upon whom it is performed, it still works out to "out-of-work." And isn't that a swell place to be. Oh, my.
Yes, 29 years at the same place -- would have been 30 in June -- and suddenly I don't have to hunt for a parking place on the crowded company lot. I don't have to wonder if I'm going to be called into a time-consuming meeting just as I begin typing enthusiastically on a story I'm enjoying. I don't have to iron a shirt to go to work. .... You get the drift.
Nope, today I awoke wondering about just what service to cut -- phone, cable, etc. You know -- the things every American has a God-given right to have. Well, every employed American.
My unemployment will spread the misery. The cleaners will have a less-frequent customer. The credit card company will have a clerk who is idle -- if they don't still have clerks, they'll just have a robot whirring and doing nothing. Money that would have been distributed to other people and businesses will no longer exist -- in my pocket, anyway. Someone else is getting to keep it and, of course, I wish them the best. All the best -- may that money be needed to help cope with their own interesting things.
Oh, I have plenty of work to do around the house. Things I've put off for years until I could get time. Ha. Joke's on me. I've got time. But if I screw up a repair job, I don't have the money to correct my mistake. You'll noticed I haven't spent every day as a skilled tradesman.
Fortunately, my wonderspouse Martha still has a job with a sensational company. So, the dogs and cats got breakfast today. As long as all that holds together, we're OK.
Except that I'm jittery already. I can't imagine life without going to the office. I used to imagine it. Now that it's here, I can't imagine it.
Lots of my friends got the axe, too. You could put out an excellent newspaper with the people who got their walking papers Wednesday.
Oh, there was no appeal. I guess that's the frustrating part. No higher court to argue your case. No place to state evidence that you were always a hard worker who didn't cost the company unplanned expenses and who didn't dishonor the profession.
See, that's the sort of loopy thinking that sets in. I'm writing scenes for a play that will never be produced. It is imperative that I remember that whatever happened yesterday is over and done and that now I must focus on a completely different future.
It feels like a broken romance. You daydream that you'll find the right phrase, the right example of devotion to change the heart of the target of your adoration. I think this is the nutty, nutty part. Unrequited love.
The trick is convincing yourself that you're still the kind of person with whom another company -- maybe a prettier one -- could fall in love.
Relax, I know I'm not the first person to whom this RIFfing -- what IS the proper construction of that term? -- has happened. It's just that I'm new to having to cope with this and I'm a tad dazed.
I must tell you this, however, Martha was a splendid comfort to me yesterday. Lord, what a woman you created. Smarter, tougher and kinder than I am.
We tried to carry on somewhat normally. In the Cloud of Stun, we motored out to Arlington for opening night of the 22nd Annual Book Fair of the American Association of University Women (Arlington Branch). And we bought several books at a half-dollar each. We saw our friend Diane Feldman and other folks from the AAUW and their enthusiasm for that book fair -- it runs through Saturday and raises money to help women. They lifted our spirits. Heck, buying books always lifts our spirits.
And when we got home, we had the dogs and cats for additional comfort. You can get a lot of solace from a nicely coiffed cocker spaniel who thinks you're a genius because you can open a can.
I sat on the couch for a long time -- I didn't lean up against the arm of the couch because that was where Hambone had chosen to sit. Hammy is the Great Dane/Lab mix -- 100 pounds of casual demeanor. But he has his ways. He's a good sitter -- likes to sit on the couch or in my big green chair (now his big green chair) and watch TV until he nods off like an old man (we're so alike).
The dogs and cats seem to be a bit surprised that I'm still at home today. Whoa. Aren't we all.
In case you wondered, I've written something every day of my life since I was a kid. Might have been a paragraph, might have been something longer than a diatribe (however long that is...)
As Barney Fife used to say on The Andy Griffith Show, it's a "compelsion."
People kept telling me Wednesday that when one door closes, another one opens. I just hope they're not depending on me to keep the door maintained. I've seen and held screwdrivers and pliers -- I'm just not really sure how they're supposed to work at peak efficiency.
I'm going to go ask Inky the cocker spaniel. He seems to have some answers and if he doesn't, he'll nudge Hambone awake and bark, "I can't do anything with him. You talk to him a while."