Talk is Cheap

My last post was April 30 at 11.01 am. Approximately 29 minutes later, I once again became a statistic. I was terminated. Laid off. Let go. Kicked to the curb. Pick your euphemism of choice.

It is a weird feeling being laid off. Frankly, almost two weeks later it still kind of feels like a dream or an extended vacation. Interestingly enough, I don't miss the work. I have on occasion missed the autonomy of leaving the spouse and the spawn and venturing out solo into the world. I have most definitely missed the knowledge of a steady income and provided health insurance. I have even missed the uninterrupted time in front of the computer (as I type this the spawn is requesting water and ice—a mother's duty is never done). But I have not missed the work.

I know some people feel lost without the identity of what they do for employment. Regardless of whether or not some corporate entity is sending me a paycheck every two weeks I know I am a writer. That continues and is not subject to change. Presumably I will find future employment, at some time, somewhere again as a writer. I suppose I should be open to changing my career path, but I am a bit of an old fogey in that way and set in my ways. And after 19 years of education, I feel I have reserved the right to say enough.

I ended my previous post with a quote from Anna Quindlen so it seems fitting that I should do it again, although the essay I am quoting from brings me much sadness. Gentle readers, if you have not gathered, Broad minded is not fond of change and the May 11/18 issue of Newsweek not only marks the publication's last issue before a significant redesign, it is notable for being the last time Quindlen will contribute to The Last Word. She writes:

Because all the submissions for the Livingston Awards have to come from reporters under the age of 35, looking at the dates of birth on the entry forms for the finalists was like a stroll through my own past . . . They [the stories] were so thoroughly reported, so well written. The next time anyone insists the business won't survive I may bash him with one of these binders, which are heavy with hope for the future . . . Flipping through their pages . . . I felt certain of the future of the news business in some form or another. But between the lines I read another message, delivered without rancor or contempt, the same one I once heard from my own son: It's our turn. Step aside. And now I will.

I will miss Quindlen's thoughtfulness and insight every other week. It has been a joy to read her for the last nine years. I appreciate that she thinks media will continue. I agree. And I applaud her lack of vanity that allows her to see that after almost 40 years as a working writer, it is time for her to give someone else the opportunity she has had to speak to Newsweek's readers.

However, it is still my turn and while I am slightly older than the new generation Quindlen speaks of, I hope that someone like her, somewhere out there, some day soon, will look at me and see the future.

It's the End of the World As We Know It . . .

And I feel like shit. There I said it. Pollyanna is on vacay today and my mood is sour, sour, sour. It is raining. I am hungry. And I have a heinous meeting tonight that I have been dreading for weeks. Perhaps tomorrow I will hoist up my bra straps and get back on my happy horse, but not today folks.

Let's start with yesterday's layoffs. Anytime someone, anyone gets laid off it sucks. No matter what your back up plan, no matter how prepared you are, even if you know it is nothing personal or at all related to your job performance it sucks. It sucks financially, it sucks for your self-esteem, and it certainly doesn't make our economy any better. (Maybe I should have titled this post "It Sucks"—that seems to be my true theme here.)

How many got the axe yesterday when Microsoft, Caterpillar, Home Depot, Sprint and the merging Wyeth and Pfizer, among others, lowered the boom? According to AP about 40,000. Lovely. And in that 40,000 were three of my friends. They were three of 10 who got laid off at one of my previous employers. I have had friends laid off before, and while I know that three or 10 seems like chump change in comparison to 40,000, I knew most of these people and that makes it all different. Everything is relative gentle readers.

And what is best served with a delicious main course of "It Sucks?" Why a healthy spoonful of "We Know It Sucks," as consumer confidence declined again in January (wonder how much lower the numbers would be if the stats had come out after people knew about all the layoffs?) Did I mention I was hungry?

Meanwhile, the GOP bone heads in Congress are trying to rally support to block Obama's economic stimulus plan. Dang. I sure do hope John Boehner (or as I like to call him Boner) have some money socked away in their mattress's for a rainy day. I wonder how many of his (and the other Republicans) constituents have been hit by yesterday's layoffs and are desperately looking for something, anything to give them some hope or a way to keep their families feed and sheltered? I wonder if they will like that the GOP is trying to block the new administration's efforts to help? I wonder if they wouldn't like an explanation from the previous Congress and administration on where exactly that previous bailout money went? It isn't like the banks are giving loans to average folks like me these days. Hell no. They are too busy giving back door bonuses to their high dollar employees like Merrill Lynch did before their buyout by Bank of America went through. Classy, real classy folks.

Forgive my ranting, but it makes me angry and I don't know what to do with my anger. (If you can id the movie I stole that line from, I might just smile a little today. Maybe.)