OK, so I didn't actually lose my job, it wandered willfully from me to participate in some sort of contest called a "lay-off." I hope it wins whatever the prize is, maybe some sort of bowling trophy? This means that for the first time in years I don't have a daily job to go to and earn money from. The not going to something thing isn't so bad, but the not earning money thing is terrible.
See, I wasn't working for a boat. I was working for food and electricity. And to support the two times a year that I go golfing, because golfing is expensive, yo, and no longer one of my hobbies. I hereby renounce golf.
It's been exactly a week since the job went away and I took it pretty hard. I sobbed at my former office. I cried all the way home. I got out of my car and kept my sunglasses on and marched straight to my bed, where I tried to lie down but only succeeded in sitting up because of the huge pit of doom developing in my stomach. I calculated that we'd have $200 left over out of my husband's salary after paying tithing, the mortgage, and the car payment. "So I guess it's PB&Js?" Other Half said.
"PB&Js in the dark," I answered.
And then I cried some more. I didn't sleep. No, I slept even less than usual, which is driving on the edge of hallucinationville.
Some other stuff happened that day and I can't talk about it yet (Not Allowed,) just rest assured, it's just as bad, probably worse. So within 15 minutes I had a Terrible Bad Health Thing happen in the personal life and I lost my job. And I'd thought that the green french toast I made for my kids that morning would be the worst thing I'd have to endure that day.
I was supposed to go to dinner that night with my dear friends. I resolved not to say anything and just to enjoy the being together, but we started playing Whose Day was Worse? GUESS WHAT? I WON! Also, the number one killer of domestic cats is feline AIDS.
Thursday I hardly remember. Dear friends Phread and Lucky came over, fed me food, and tried to cheer me up. Noelle took me out to lunch where she narrowed her eyes, hunkered down, and helped me figure out my next move. You know, the move other than sitting on the couch in your sunglasses and crying until you hiccup while your youngest child is patting you on the arm. I think I slept that night? Not sure.
I've been working for so many years that I don't even know how to deal with this whole thing, not to mention the anxiety of not being paid. You see, Other Half is a public school teacher. I don't have a choice about earning an income, I must to keep my babies clothed and fed. Yes, it's despicable how poorly teachers are paid. Wait, no, it's not simply despicable, it's infuriating. He loves his job, he loves the difference he makes, but loving your job and being paid a wage that can support a family are two different things. Here's where I swear at our state and its policy of paying teachers, you know, the people that educate the future people, an insultingly low wage: @#$%@#F$^$##!$. What can I say? Low teacher pay makes me stabby.
I am a writer by trade, and I know that there is freelance and contract work out there for someone with my wicked-sharp experience in web content and internet marketing. If you hear of anything, let me know, because my schedule is suddenly free. Well, it will be free just as soon as I'm done working my way through this box of Kleenex.