Changes: One Wedding, One Funeral, Near Lay-off and a New Job

Monday afternoon I was notified that I got the job for which I'd interviewed last Friday, and that I had 6-1/2 days before the inception of that new position. Say wha-?!?

Well hooray for employment and being able to buy dog fud and pay the mortgage in the forseeable future, after knowing I'd be laid off from Esker Software March 31. I am also immensely grateful that this is a job that gives every appearance of being interesting and absorbing, unlike my career snore of the past 3 years. But I had really counted on the regulation two-week countdown before leaving Esker. Now I feel like I'm on a runaway train; and there's just not time enough to get my system properly adapted to the absence of my Esker friends that I've seen and loved every day for a year, and the impending restrictive "business casual" dress code that will not accommodate choosing among costumes and jeans for my work apparel. I was doing really well with the intellectual take on "it's all for the best", "I'll be making more money and having a more meaningful job", and "sure, cool" until this afternoon when I had to say good-bye to Joy, my fellow tech writer, manager, and amazing woman, who doesn't work on Fridays. Since then I've been crumbling into the grief I really feel and dissolving into tears. Someone will eventually have to put me into a bucket and pour me to wherever I need to go.

This is coming on the heels of the whirlwind preparations for my daughter's wedding since December, followed by the nuptials themselves last month. Lovely. Delightful. Happy. But nevertheless one of those rites of passage that denotes Major Change.

Then last week Bob Wood/Prince Variant, one of the founders of the Madison Hash House Harriers died after a long struggle with cancer. He took the Big C down to the mat a time or two or ten... but it won the final match. He and his beautiful wife Barbara were two incredibly dynamic and loving people. (Well, of course, Barbara still is since I don't see her throwing herself on the funeral pyre. I guess what I'm trying to say is that they were dynamic and loving as individuals and also as a couple, and it's hard to think of them not together.) How could The Prince possibly be gone? He lived well, and even in his final days reportedly had blessedly little pain. He died peacefully in Barb's arms. One cannot live and die with much more grace than he did. I went to the viewing and wake Sunday night. Totally surreal. I kept expecting him to show up, even though I knew that he was the one in the casket. Rest in peace, and stay in our hearts, Prince.

Then there is my disturbing inability of late to say or do anything without unintentionally offending someone... I'm good at stirring the pot and sometimes pushing buttons, but that I do with purpose, a sharp scalpel, and large cannon. When with all goodwill I inadvertently stumble onto someone's personal landmine, the absorption of the resulting organic shrapnel makes me shrink back and think that perhaps I should give up on trying to communicate with those with whom I have such different wavelengths. Save us all a lot of grief. And at this point, I can hardly deal with my own overwhelming emotions and grief from issues that make sense. I'm in no mood to field petty bullshit.

I think I need to go back to hermitizing for a bit. You can reach me at my cave.

Another Perplexing Sweets Conundrum

My neighbor who lives across the street participates in an annual American Diabetes Association fund-raising campaign, and faithfully mails me a contribution envelope each year. Never mind that I haven't seen her—even in a driveway sighting—for over two years. It's a good cause. Or is it?

I had gone so far as to write "American Diabe" on the check when I started thinking about this terrible disease that creates such far-reaching erosion of the human body. I also started contemplating that a large percentage of those afflicted, particularly with Type II, have some measure of responsibility for their plight when it is spawned or exacerbated by overweight that they personally piled on. I'm certainly on the tubby side myself right now, but I'm not asking anyone to shell out bucks to find a cure for Tight Waistband Syndrome.

I also considered this past Saturday when I turned down both the ASPCA's and Earthjustice's requests for donations, citing my upcoming layoff with no job currently in sight. To my knowledge, none of the ASPCA animals are homeless or abused due to their own acts; and Mother Earth certainly did not ask for the Bush Administration.

Of course, many who have diabetes, particularly Type I, have no responsibility for having the disease; and this does give me some measure of conflict about the issue. But there are too many worthy causes where all or most of the beneficiaries have no other recourse. For now, my money's on them.