Getting back to work today was rough. Real rough. Seasonal snow graciously waited until I returned before making an appearance. I bundled up before heading out the door. The bus was a squishy affair, a solid mass of people. I arrived at the station as the first train stopped, Packt Like Sardines, I noticed a subway sign. A stick figure standing on the edge of the tracks, big red circle with a line through it. “Stand back from the tracks” or something of the like. I stared intently, thinking of my work desk. Thinking of the emails that would pour in through the day. Thinking of doing this again tomorrow and the next, with short weekend breaks, ad infinitum. Really? I thought would it be so much worse than the alternative? Then another train arrived, this time with room. I caught it to another station, where I waited for another train Packt Like Sardines. I thought back to the sign. After getting the next train and arriving at the station, I put all of my cold weather gear back on, headed out into the world and looked at my approaching bus, warm memories of the suicide sign in my mind.
Despite this, work today has been fine. Unmemorable. The hours have somehow passed and I’ve done precious little. My co-workers actually did a great job of filling in, easing my transition back to my cubicle. Without exaggeration I refreshed the job opportunities page at least 15 times. No dice. With as much sympathy as you can muster for a poor white cis dude, getting back in front of a screen for nine hours sucks. This place is dimly lit. I feel imminently irreplaceable as an employee and a human being. Guess that’s what I get for having other aspects of my life sorted.
Our Christmas party was announced and while it’s the predictable downsizing, I guess that’s something I just need to let go. For our last two years, the company a) rented the Ripley’s Aquarium and b) put together an outstanding prohibition era event. Both were excuses to get dressed up all fancy-like and bring significant others along for the party. This year they’re doing a pyjama party in the atrium. Music, snacks and drinks. It’s not like I need an excuse to wear a onesie, but they’ve given me one anyway. It should be fun, it’s also hard not to pine for what’s lost. I need to remind myself constantly that while we’ve upsized as a media company, our parent company is now hands-off. So we’ve massively shrunk overall as a company. Hence the benefits reduction, hence the reduced frivolity, hence feeling like I’m being shortchanged, when in fact we’re likely instead falling in line with your aaaaaverage everyday company.
I swear these entries will pick up soon. Unless they don’t. In which case I’m walking straight out into that blizzard.
What was on that sign again?