Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Dead Writer Walking
I developed an idea, a way for my client to respond to the Experian data breach. I refashioned copy to make the way the gears of a HELOC grind sound a little more appealing. I went to lunch and bought flowers for my desk. I prepared for tomorrow morning's meeting.
I live my work life as though I don't know they have plans to replace me.
This is surreal.
Oh well. I've been in advertising for decades and have never been let go. Truly, I don't know anyone else that can be said of. It's simply my turn. I just wish it had come a little earlier, when I was more marketable and better prepared to bounce back.
Maybe it won't happen. I've feared many a pogrom before and survived.
And if it does happen, maybe I'll find something that's a better fit. For while I am very loyal to my client, I don't especially like where I work.
But I can't do anything else tonight. I am sick -- I'm congested and headachey and the roof of my mouth is mushy. It's hot outside. The Cubs can't put the Cardinals away.
As Katie Scarlett O'Hara would say, "Tomorrow is another day." I'm just going to be kind to myself, eat a tangerine, drink some water, and get some sleep.