My friend Richard: Cha Cha, you have got to get back to blogging. You’re so good at it, and it’s your passion! And you’re so funny! When you have a gift like that, you have to do it. You make people’s lives better with your blogging. So, just go home, take off your bra, settle down on the couch, and write, girl!
My dad: I check your blog every day. I’m getting really sick of reading about your umbrella.
And so it is.
So much to write about … so, I’m just gonna come right on out and say it.
Corporate Behemoth is having massive layoffs and restructuring. Again. But this time? This time, you could volunteer to get canned.
I did. I am. I am getting voluntarily canned. My last day at Corporate Behemoth is Friday.
Holy shit, right?
I’m going to do contract work and freelancing, and maybe even some writing for me. I actually had a recruiter contact me out of the blue, so I guess I’m not completely unemployable. That’s nice.
And a big reason behind my “take the money and run” voluntary severance?
We’re sort of … umm … attempting to … procreate. It’s taking long enough and I’m ancient enough that there might be something going on (or not, as the case may be) in my ladyparts. The term “reproductive endocrinologist” has been bandied about. That’s nice.
Just lots of bidness going down. I’m exhausted – I had less than a week to decide if I was going to apply for voluntary severance, and then had to wait a week to see if it was a go. Except that at 4:00 of the day when everyone was supposed to know whether or not their severance request had been approved, HR sent out an e-mail saying, “We have to do what’s best for the company. We need another week.”
Oh. What’s best for the company. Nevermind us mere mortals whose lives hang in the balance. That’s nice. Real nice.
I’ve been drinking. A lot.
And then I found out 3 days ago that it’s a done deal. I know it’s what’s best for me and My Guy, but I’m at a bit of a loss. Who am I going to be now?
I went shopping today – because that’s the smart thing to do when you’re about to cut off your income source. I tried on lots of clothes but bought very little. I just couldn’t quite put my finger on what sort of clothes I’ll need moving forward. Who will I be?
Well, I’m pretty sure I won’t be the lady I saw at Nordstrom Rack who was wearing hooker eyeliner, a white tank top that didn’t cover her wow-you-almost-look-7-months-pregnant-but-you’re-just-fat gut, and a permanent glare.
However, I might be the woman who physically beats up the mall kiosk guy who accosts women by saying, “I see you wash your hands a lot. Are you a nurse? You need this new lotion.” Because I, personally, had a fantasy of clocking him with my handbag and then kicking him in the skull after he insinuated that my hands were haggard.
So, that’s an option. I’m still figuring it all out.
I will probably continue to be the woman who needs an outlet for talking about the stupid stuff in my life. And this keeping-it-all-to-myself business hasn’t worked that well. So. Here I am.