In Which Christine is Made Redundant, Or, It Happened to Me!
I got laid off today.
This came as a complete surprise. Although I had been assured for months that there was grant money to cover my projects, it turned out that was a bit optimistic.
Once again, I remind you that none of Cleveland's important cultural institutions are too big to fail.
I'm not mad. I'm having some trouble figuring out just what I am. Filled with dread at the prospect of having nothing to do all day, mostly. The last time I was out of work, when we moved back to Cleveland from New York, I felt worthless and demoralized. It was surprising to realize that I had wrapped up so much of my self-worth in my paycheck.
One of the many reasons I haven't become a famous author by now is that I am not good at structuring my own time outside of the workplace. I like having a place to go every morning. I like knowing that I have to wake up by a certain time, leave by a certain time, and go to lunch at a certain time. Like Rain Man.
I also like feeling like I'm part of an institution. I like knowing that I am a cog in the machine of human civilization. Even though I've always been kind of a lone wolf, I like the camaraderie that comes with having a bunch of coworkers who are all in the same boat. I like having people to talk to all day.
This was a particularly awful weekend for this to happen, to boot, because Jim's brother is coming up and they are dragging me to an Indians game. (I hate baseball, Little Red Sambo, Slider, and people who look like they are having fun.) To add insult to injury, Jim's brother is always going on about how much he hates his (well-paying, stable) job, how he threatens to quit but then his boss sweet talks him back on board with money and perks. Oh, and he tends to cast a judgmental eye on the beer or wineglass in my hand -- kind of like being at church camp, minus the religion.
Anyway, I might have to face the fact, ultimately, that the Universe is going to keep kicking me in the ass until I stop thinking about wanting to write books, and just write books.
It's the best I can tell myself, at this point.
This came as a complete surprise. Although I had been assured for months that there was grant money to cover my projects, it turned out that was a bit optimistic.
Once again, I remind you that none of Cleveland's important cultural institutions are too big to fail.
I'm not mad. I'm having some trouble figuring out just what I am. Filled with dread at the prospect of having nothing to do all day, mostly. The last time I was out of work, when we moved back to Cleveland from New York, I felt worthless and demoralized. It was surprising to realize that I had wrapped up so much of my self-worth in my paycheck.
One of the many reasons I haven't become a famous author by now is that I am not good at structuring my own time outside of the workplace. I like having a place to go every morning. I like knowing that I have to wake up by a certain time, leave by a certain time, and go to lunch at a certain time. Like Rain Man.
I also like feeling like I'm part of an institution. I like knowing that I am a cog in the machine of human civilization. Even though I've always been kind of a lone wolf, I like the camaraderie that comes with having a bunch of coworkers who are all in the same boat. I like having people to talk to all day.
This was a particularly awful weekend for this to happen, to boot, because Jim's brother is coming up and they are dragging me to an Indians game. (I hate baseball, Little Red Sambo, Slider, and people who look like they are having fun.) To add insult to injury, Jim's brother is always going on about how much he hates his (well-paying, stable) job, how he threatens to quit but then his boss sweet talks him back on board with money and perks. Oh, and he tends to cast a judgmental eye on the beer or wineglass in my hand -- kind of like being at church camp, minus the religion.
Anyway, I might have to face the fact, ultimately, that the Universe is going to keep kicking me in the ass until I stop thinking about wanting to write books, and just write books.
It's the best I can tell myself, at this point.
posted by Christine Borne at 6:06 PM
5 Comments:
I'm confident you'll manage to find a new gig soon, Christine. That is, if you want one. Hopefully this will also help you fulfill your desire to write more. Basically what I'm saying is that I hope this works out for the best, whichever way IS best for you.
If you could use a hand feel free to holler at me.
BTW, the captcha for this comment is 'hobear'.
Thank you, Hobear.
I had a long, sleepless night filled with bitterness and regret. Maybe the moving back to Cleveland thing was an idealistic, misguided experiment. Jim and I told ourselves we'd rather be in Cleveland than New York when the recession hit, but to be honest, both of us would have still been at our New York jobs now, if we wanted to be. Jim's former employer hasn't laid off a single employee in its 100-year history.
I wish they would have given me more than 2 days' notice. Two days isn't even enough to finish up what I'm doing, let alone explain it to anyone else. And let alone get used to the idea of not being employed.
I also wish this had happened before I bought the house, because now we're kind of stuck here.
Having been laid off before, I know this feeling. It is simply awful. But it can also be very liberating. I think we are very similar in terms of the fact that while working drone jobs/careers, we're conscious of the fact that we could do better for ourselves. And by that I mean, we could be doing something creative, entrepreneurial, or whatever. We feel stifled by the 9 to 5 lifestyle. This is your chance to make something awesome happen for yourself. I, and many others, will help you however we can.
My captcha is czedu. Very Eastern European.
Here's hoping it'll be but a quick vacation. This economy just plain sucks.
I am the cockroach of the library world. Not only do I generally get stuck working in the basement, but I always scuttle from the wreckage, ready to live another day.
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