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Entry tags:
Post-job-loss
I love you all. Thanks so much. For some time anyway I've been feeling like my real life was here (with the fiction writing and the community that clusters around it) rather than there; this just makes that official.
My friend Magenta had to pack up my office for me. I spent the entire time dithering, pacing, and putting random things in my briefcase. When I got home, I discovered I had brought half a bank statement (torn in half), a tea strainer full of loose tea, and my two favorite pens, but had left behind my external hard drive, which was my own personal purchase. When I called Magenta to ask her to bring it to me, I discovered that my mouth was numb.
Kidlet, who isn't quite 4 yet, kept looking at me -- my face, my arms, my legs. Finally I figured out that they were thinking "getting fired" had something to do with real fire, and looking for burns.
Yesterday I withdrew some money with my bank card and bought some things with my credit card, and both times I had this subconscious flash of panic: They won't take it! For a moment I felt like I didn't have those cards legitimately. Like I'd lost not my job but my name.
I had lunch today with my best friend, Mac, who still works at my former company. "You get points for being brave enough to lose your job on Friday and call me at work on Monday," she said. "And you get bonus points for driving right up to the door on Tuesday to pick me up."
"Is that unusual?" I asked.
"Well, when Marie got laid off in the last round, she wouldn't even drive past the building for three months," she said.
I'm OK. Now that the shock has worn off, and now that I've clarified exactly how much of this was my fault and how much I can legitimately blame on other people, mostly what I feel is relief: All the things that aren't my problem any more! (And, hey, now I don't have to learn Flash!)
Naturally I'm going to look for another job, though I'm not quite sure what sort of job I want. (As my former editor used to say, "We have no skills but literacy. In a post-industrial world we'd probably serve the society best in the role of meat.")
In the meantime, I'm going to work on stories, and I'm going to do some freelance magazine writing. (My specialties are how-to writing and nonfiction for kids, if anybody has any referrals.)
And I'm going to write a romance novel. Yes, I am. I've been saying for years that I could do it, and last night the spouse said, "Hey. You've got the time. Go for it."
So this is me, going for it.
edited 2020 to retroactively correct the kidlet's gender pronouns
My friend Magenta had to pack up my office for me. I spent the entire time dithering, pacing, and putting random things in my briefcase. When I got home, I discovered I had brought half a bank statement (torn in half), a tea strainer full of loose tea, and my two favorite pens, but had left behind my external hard drive, which was my own personal purchase. When I called Magenta to ask her to bring it to me, I discovered that my mouth was numb.
Kidlet, who isn't quite 4 yet, kept looking at me -- my face, my arms, my legs. Finally I figured out that they were thinking "getting fired" had something to do with real fire, and looking for burns.
Yesterday I withdrew some money with my bank card and bought some things with my credit card, and both times I had this subconscious flash of panic: They won't take it! For a moment I felt like I didn't have those cards legitimately. Like I'd lost not my job but my name.
I had lunch today with my best friend, Mac, who still works at my former company. "You get points for being brave enough to lose your job on Friday and call me at work on Monday," she said. "And you get bonus points for driving right up to the door on Tuesday to pick me up."
"Is that unusual?" I asked.
"Well, when Marie got laid off in the last round, she wouldn't even drive past the building for three months," she said.
I'm OK. Now that the shock has worn off, and now that I've clarified exactly how much of this was my fault and how much I can legitimately blame on other people, mostly what I feel is relief: All the things that aren't my problem any more! (And, hey, now I don't have to learn Flash!)
Naturally I'm going to look for another job, though I'm not quite sure what sort of job I want. (As my former editor used to say, "We have no skills but literacy. In a post-industrial world we'd probably serve the society best in the role of meat.")
In the meantime, I'm going to work on stories, and I'm going to do some freelance magazine writing. (My specialties are how-to writing and nonfiction for kids, if anybody has any referrals.)
And I'm going to write a romance novel. Yes, I am. I've been saying for years that I could do it, and last night the spouse said, "Hey. You've got the time. Go for it."
So this is me, going for it.
edited 2020 to retroactively correct the kidlet's gender pronouns