Just when I've reconciled myself to being unemployed after New Year's Eve, I get this little e-mail asking me to meet one of the CEOs on Monday.
I'm to be in his office at 11 a.m. with my immediate supervisor.
There's no clue as to what the topic of discussion will be but of course, my heart leapt.
Does this mean they're going to realize I'm indispensable after all?
Will they ask me to stay on and keep writing — something I love to do and count as something as necessary as breathing for me?
Or will they tell me it's time to get out?
Maybe they'll simply say "Stop blogging about this!"
The options are many and it makes my head hurt to consider some of them.
Now that I've seen the future picturing myself as a retired person living on a pittance, I'm not sure I can go back to looking at driving the commute from home to work for another several years.
It would take us, Marc and I, from facing an uncertain future together to a present that has me employed and him not, again. We've done that already.
It's a puzzle and kind of like getting a call from the ward executive secretary asking you to come in and see the bishop.
Your worst fears come to the forefront: teaching the teenagers or working in the nursery.
2 years ago