Welcome to 2007.
Much has happened in the past six weeks. To be frank I just didn’t have the energy or inclination to put any of it down during the holidays: time was not an issue. The weight of that decision now bears down and I’ve truly no idea where to start.
When last I wrote I was working through the shock of learning that my contract was not to be renewed through 2007, something I had secretly taken for granted based on the overwhelmingly positive feedback since I first transited from journalism to the Dark Side in the weeks immediately after the Asian tsunami.
Nearly two months removed from hearing that I would find myself unemployed on Jan 1, I’m still pretty angry. I used to wake up every morning with a knot in my stomach and a red mist behind my retinas which mercifully has disappeared. Also fair to say that I am not happily transitioning through the various stages of grief that Oprah holds so dear. No, I’m pretty much stuck on anger and enjoying the sensation.
At the same time I’m trying to be smart about it. The community is small and the future, long, and having invested so much in the process I am loathe to detonate around those who might one day be
of use. In my dealings with the agency that employed me I have been unfailingly polite, even during those times when I was having trouble breathing.
Most recently it has involved my not being compensated for a raise I was due last February. The Old Boss now says that since the books on fiscal 06 are closed the only way to make it happen is if they put together a short term contract and that I actually produce something. This despite my having raised the issue in plenty of time for them to process it last year. I await the calculation of what I am entitled to before agreeing to anything.
The individuals who, through their incompetence and financial mismanagement are directly responsible for my current situation, are sufficiently buffered by a combination of ignorance and ego that no words or actions on my part are going to reach them. So the Grinch confines himself to confiding in people who’ll isten to the rant without feeling the need to dish up some New Age pap or hackneyed ‘every cloud has a silver lining…’ nonsense.
The upside to all this – and there is an upside – is that the bank account is sufficiently fat that there’s no immediate need to look for work which squares quite nicely with the fact that I’m tired at some sub-atomic level and more than happy to chill out for a couple of months. I’d like to work on my backhand, lose the paunch that is the legacy of two years of 12-15 hour work days, get ripped before I’m too old to do so – something about the quality of the connective tissues degrading after 40 making it more difficult to be toned up and fit – quit smoking (never a problem… staying quit is the issue!) and spending some quality time with my PowerBook writing about stuff. All the while focusing on producing a first litter with the missus. If my experiences over the years in a multiplicity of countries are any indication, now that we are both unemployed, overweight and somewhat bored, procreation should be a slam-dunk.
We’ve only just returned from a month in the Great White North. More on that later.