Last November I was working on Month Eight (or was it Nine?) of being unemployed. I was still receiving severance pay from my former company, so I’d kinda slacked my way through the summer. But now it was getting scary…
In January the payments would stop, along with our health insurance, and I had no prospects. None whatsoever. Sweet sainted mother of Blue Moon Odom! Every day I walked around feeling like someone was yanking the drawstring on my sphincter.
Then I was offered two jobs on the same day, after months of nuffin, and was able to avoid disaster. Heck, the COBRA payments alone would’ve been something like $125,000 per month. At least that’s the way I remember it…
So, I’m not really complaining when I explain to you how I’ll be working both Christmas Eve and New Years Eve this year. Not complaining, explaining.
I seriously can’t remember working a Christmas Eve before. I probably have, but it was likely one of those deals where everybody showed up for a few hours, drank coffee, ate cookies, mocked someone’s hideous sweater, then called it a day.
This year I’ll be there until 8 pm or later — actually working. Have you ever heard of such a thing?!
By the time I get home the Secrets will probably be in bed, or ready for bed, and that’ll be that. I love Christmas Eve, it’s better than Christmas Day, in my estimation. But this year it’ll be nothing more than me klunking through the door at 9:30, scarfing down a Marvine Catheter frozen meal, shotgunning four or five Yuenglings, and trying to set up a drum kit quietly. Happy holidays!
But, it’s better than unemployment. Much better. Here’s a piece I wrote at the height of that frustration… So, I feel a little guilty when I go grrrr every time it crosses my mind. Yet, the grrrrs keep coming, involuntarily.
I know a woman whose teenage daughter is very sick, and I think of her when I complain about something minor. Like when Comcast changes the cable channels around, for no known reason. These kinds of things piss me off, and trigger a daisy-chain of profanity.
And I’m fully aware it’s small, small stuff, compared to the hardships some folks endure. But I can’t help it; it makes me crazy. In fact, I suspect I’d do better with a major catastrophe, like our house burning down to its foundation, than, say, sitting in a parking lot waiting for some shitball to back into a parking space.
Not that I ever want to test that theory, mind you….
In any case, what schedule will you be working this holiday season? Is it like my Gucci deal of the past, or will you actually have duties to perform all the way up until the cusp of Santa’s arrival, like my current situation?
Help me out with it, won’t you? Maybe it’ll help cut down on all the grrrrs that keep busting out around this place.
And don’t forget to enter our Fun With Filth contest! There will be no prizes (I’m a very busy man), other than the gift of community involvement. It takes a village, dammit. Here are the details.
See ya next time!