Last night I got a call that could be the beginning of the end… or it could be nothing. I don’t really know for sure yet, but will have a better sense on Monday.
The call came while I was at a dinner trying to convince some college students to sign their job offers with my firm. Wouldn’t that be ironic if I got my layoff call while I was recruiting kids who are essentially my replacements? Instead of going to bed at a reasonable hour, I spent the night freaking out, crying, trying to figure out what’s going on and whether this call meant anything or if I was paranoid, and brainstorming alternate career paths.
When I did get to sleep, I had nightmares all night. However, my “nightmares” had nothing to do with work, but were dreams about me eating three pieces of cheese pizza. I woke up feeling sick and disgusted with myself for overindulging, and spent the first ten minutes after I woke up trying to figure out if I had actually gone and eaten three pieces of pizza or if it really was just a nightmare. Interesting that I seem to be as scared of three pieces of pizza as I am of losing my job.
I don’t really feel like going to Tulsa for the marathon. I want to go home and lie in bed and panic and wallow. That’s what Monday will be for…