The Family Business

Last night my husband and I rented movies and ate Mexican food. It was quite the rowdy Friday night for us. As I was getting into bed I noticed that I had received a couple of text messages from my brother. The first one made reference to my blog and something about "binomial insurgency." The second said something like he expected me to answer him personally. My reaction? WTF?

I first had to look up "binomial" and "insurgency" just to be sure I knew what he was trying to convey. The last time I heard "binomial" used in a sentence it was binomial nomenclature and I was in 8th grade Algebra. Sure enough:

Binomial: bi·no·mi·al /[bahy-noh-mee-uhl]
–noun
1. Algebra. an expression that is a sum or difference of two terms, as 3x + 2y and x2 − 4x.
2. Zoology, Botany. a taxonomic name consisting of a generic and a specific term, used to designate species.

In·sur·gen·cy
Pronunciation: in-'s&r-j&n-sE
Function: noun
Inflected Form: plural -cies
: the quality or state of being insurgent; specifically : a condition of revolt against a recognized government that does not reach the proportions of an organized revolutionary government and is not recognized as belligerency

Apparently I am a mathematical rebellion. Either that or a zoological disturbance.

Our texting back and forth finally led to a phone call. J was amused by this texting and decided to get in on the action and began to text my brother as well. My brother was just saying he was essentially just sending a message. Basically, Dad was hurt by my portrayal of him as a "monster" and that it had damaged his familial relations, but he couldn't elaborate specifically how that manifested. Huh.

My brother is a really good guy. I truly believe he was bridging family ties and he's been a peace keeper from the start. I did say that I have not talked with Dad directly and based on recent caporegime messages from both my brother and mom, I think that all I can do is deal with each relationship individually. I empathized with his predicament of being put in the middle and said that he could choose to remove himself as the middle man.

After we hung up, J and I talked. The more I discussed it with him the more I became aware of how our family operated. It was like the The Godfather. Family came first and you never betrayed the family. I guess I played the family consigliere until recently. Cooking was a huge place of bonding. Dad's lamb shank recipe could rival the Corleone's spaghetti sauce any day. And there were messages passed down from the Don (aka Dad). I'm not certain what I'd kiss considering Dad doesn't wear any rings. Perhaps his golf club?

Its not personal, its business. While I haven't had an offer I couldn't refuse or a dead horse head in my bed, I have decided to leave the guns and take the cannoli.

Just Call Him Mark Spitz

Back in 2004 my husband first came to Indy with his mother to scope out a place to live. He said he kept me in mind while touring with the real estate agent. Why, I will never know as I had dumped him the day before he left on his trip because he was taking his mother and not me with him. However, now that we are married and made it through that bump in the road I can say I'm grateful he did keep me in mind.

The condo sits on a lake (playing to my love of water), has a community pool (love of swimming), lots of light and a fireplace. J later bought a kayak to paddle around and this summer we bought a life vest for me. (Much better than me wearing a men's extra large and having it essentially strangle me every time I sit down in it.) Another aside: the life vest says "Ho Sports" on it in hot pink. That alone made me want to buy it. Every time I see it, I end up in a fit of giggles. Plus, it was from Costco, J's mecca. Ok, back to the real point of the entry.

When I was little I had a curmudgeon of a dog named Henry. Henry was a Scottie as well, but a very large Scottie who actually was the runt of the litter. We would take Henry with us to Ginny and Pop (maternal grandparents) to swim in their pool. A couple of times, maybe more, my brother and I would be playing and the dog decided to join us. This then cued Ginny to say, "Damn dog!" and jump in to save him. Scotties are shaped like mailboxes with heads and little skinny legs. Essentially they sink.

Back when I first went out with my back, J and I took Edgar to the lakeside to play fetch. The ball landed in the water and much to my surprise, Edgar went in after it. I began to panic. But Edgar is not a typical Scottie. He is very long and tall for this breed and definitely would not win best in show...well that and he doesn't have any nads.

He's always been a bit athletic. We call him Leapin' Lizards at times because he can do things like jump on beds (no other Scottie I've had could do this), jump on my counter (see previous entry with destroyed kitchen), and once jumped out of my car while we were at the park because he saw another dog. That was the scariest day of my life so far. Mom and I got home to see we only had 2 dogs, not 3. We found him in the park and all I could do was hold him and cry. We no longer roll down the windows. At any rate, back to the swimming!

Edgar and I went to play a game of fetch the other day. He loves this game. But inevitably the ball lands in the water.
The first time he went in after it I freaked out, but J held me back and Edgar found sheer joy in just wading around figuring out he could drink the water while he walked then began to venture out further. As seen here:
This progresses into more of a shore wading/venturing out further. Mind you, the ball is now being carried off further into the lake by the current.
Edgar then sees the ball (aka, eye on the prize) and begins to go after it. This usually starts with him belly flopping out into the deeper water.
And then he tries to get the ball, but ends up inhaling more water and pushing the ball further away. By now, I'm freaking out because he is so far out there and I begin to call him back while simultaneously starting to prep myself for going in after him. It takes him awhile to give up, but he will swim back to shore.We do end up losing quite a few balls, which we may go get the kayak out to retrieve. But Edgar is very very proud of himself and happy, scrawny legs and all. Good thing he likes water because he always ends up in the bathtub after a swim in the lake.

Good Friends

Well, everyone will be thrilled to know that I have made up with my mother. I know some of you were just on the edge of your seats out there, biting your nails, and holding your breath in anticipation of what would happen. Kind of like how it was cool to watch "Days of Our Lives" in junior high and just couldn't wait to see if Roman was really John or if Bo and Hope would really get back together. But, this is a really great development in my life. It also means I can dedicate more writing to stupid stuff that for some reasons my dedicated readers keep tuning in for.

One of my close girlfriends noticed, "Holy Hannah, I certainly know you've been blogging since you've been unemployed with all of the entries!" Well, yes, it is one way I like to think I'm contributing to society in my delusional state of temporary housewifedom. The same girlfriend showed me a link to someone who truly is insane and either deserves a DSM diagnosis or a cookbook publishing deal . (Hey, its my first successful embedded link! Cue the roar of approval from the peanut gallery.)

Lets talk fiber, shall we? I mean truly how many entries are there dedicated to fiber out there? I figure if one person can do a whole blog on cupcakes then I can do one little tiny entry about fiber. The first thing you should know is that my husband is obsessed with fiber. This did not come with him attending medical school. Nope, I blame/credit his family of origin for this. We cannot scan the cereal or bread aisle without him flipping the boxes over to see exactly how many grams are worthy of being in our cabinets. I've learned that 2 grams is unacceptable and that 3 grams is marginal, but anything with 4 or more is the bees knees. This is a total switch for a girl who grew up with whatever was advertised the most on Saturday morning cartoons and promised some kind of prize in the sugary melee.

He once told me a story of a friend in high school who would look for the cereal with twigs in it. I knew this particular friend. He was brilliant, but also in that way that made his view on life seem just a bit off. I thought it was just his way of being quirky and J was just relaying this in the story. The other night we went specifically to the store for cereal.

"Hey, honey, look twigs! Its the cereal (Mario/Yoshi/Ben/etc) had in high school! I found it!" I heard as he picked up a very bland looking box. There were no cartoon characters promising chocolatey goodness in every bite, no secret decoder rings to collect, and no mazes on the back to help the Captain find his crunch-o-scope. "And look at the fiber content on this!"

I further inspected the box to find the unheard of amount of 12 grams of fiber in 1 serving. 12. Yes, you read it correctly.

"They would have to be literal twigs in order to get this amount of fiber in a serving. You may as well just go gnaw on the tree in the front yard. Are you sure they aren't real twigs?" Images flooded of Edgar pooping in the front yard and J in his bathrobe gnawing at the base of our pine tree like a beaver while neighbors strolled on their merry morning walks.

"Nah, I think its just what they call them."

"Well, now that's an advertising gimmick I wouldn't have thought of. Which company actually hired this ad agency and thought that this was the BEST idea?" I prematurely concluded that it had to have been a Japanese company given the fact that my cousin's blog was filled with poorly translated English advertising concepts. See here as an example of many.

Nope it was Kashi. A company marketed to the health conscious Gen X'ers/Baby Boomers. They were located in the hoity toity area of San Diego, La Jolla. On vacation once a girlfriend and I had to rent a Mercedes car service to get back to our hotel from this area because there weren't any regular cabs to be found in this area of town.

"Good friends?" I then exclaimed looking at the P.C. correct couple on the front of the box. "That is what they are calling it? Good friends? As in, you should be good friends with your colon?"

Hell, if I ate this cereal NO ONE would want to be good friends with me because I would stink so much. But, never the less, it won a spot in our cabinet. Note that it also states "I will savor my broccoli" Not a good friend of W, who hates broccoli, so that meant it would be a friend of mine.

Too Close To Home

I hung up on my mother two nights ago.

This is not a proud moment and I'm still stewing about it. In fact it is something that I feel really bad about. I do not condone this type of acting out in others, so why I think its ok for me to do it can be a complete therapy session waiting to happen.

The fact of the matter is I got completely overwhelmed, emotionally overloaded, and took things way too personally. Once I had clicked "end" on the phone I looked for something to soothe my internal rage. It was cocktail time, but turning to alcohol was not a good choice, nor was eating (although I did promptly break out the red pepper hummus), nor would exercise because I have a tendency to over do things and with a back injury still healing, I knew better. By the time my husband came through the door I had already screwed up two recipes and was slamming things around the kitchen with tear stains on my tee shirt. He calmly led me through a debriefing session which made me think that he was the better therapist and I had the insight of a rock. However, it made me feel better.

Looking back with 20/20 vision I could see that she was leading up to the bomb dropping through the whole conversation although I didn't clue in the whole time we were on the phone. She held back. She was tentative in her conversation: not offering too much, not prodding for more from me. This guarding is always a tell tale sign something is up.

She ended the conversation by saying she could see I was busy and she would let me go, but she had one request: Stop blogging about my father. What? Hello, left field! I have to say I was racking my brain for what I last wrote about my father.

She said that I portrayed him in a mean light to which I replied, "He can be a very mean man." She said that she worried about how that impacted extended family relations and that I should have more of an edit button on because there were hurt feelings. However if I couldn't respect her request then I should change my blog address so she doesn't know about it.

That last sentence pushed me over the edge.

Has she not been reading my last entries filled with angst? I think I was very clear that I had to be authentic and that was the larger message. But what really got me was that what she was really saying was, "I feel bad, but its now your problem not mine and its inconvenient to me to change, so you need to." This is a common family message that my father sends out quite a bit. I suggested that she just stop reading the blog. She suggested I kept my relationships private. Perhaps she really doesn't know me. I'm a lot like her own mother in the fact that I call a spade a spade.

The problem was I lost my cool and didn't think about what was the larger question being asked. I've written far more unfavorable things in the past about my family and have tempered my expression to a compromised place; preserving the relationships while maintaining content. Plus, my father and I have the relationship that if he was really upset, he'd let me know. I don't even think he reads the blog anyway. I think he only hears about it from her. So really, the larger question was what button was really pushed for her?

I haven't seen my family in over 6 months. Its hard to know what dynamics are really going on back there. I do know that perhaps my recent unemployment has hit a button with her as my father went/is going through a similar predicament and she's having a hard time (naturally and normally) trying to be "supportive" to him. Its been going on now for almost a decade. (One of her first questions to me was what my plan was for a job and what my husband thought.) I've suggested therapy for her countless times to find this balance, but I also know that she will only seek it out when she's ready. For being as forward thinking as she is, I also know she struggles with the concepts of women working. She owns her own highly successful business, but I think she wishes it was just more of a hobby.

One of my biggest fears is turning into my father and I've been wrestling those demons ever since I quit the high ranking job two weeks ago. I've been madly applying to jobs because I don't want to be like him or have J struggle with "supporting" me. However, hanging up on her was mean of me too. While we've always been each other's rocks, I don't know how we can support one another in this new chapter as it hits to0 close to what is raw and what is real.

Perspective

Ah, one week into unemployment and I'm coming off of the roller coaster o' emotion. Y'all have seen how I've struggled with this transition, but I'm beginning to see the silver lining so to speak.

1) I now have a potential social circle with my former colleagues. It wouldn't have been easy to be friends with those whom I supervised, but now we have lunch scheduled for Friday. This is a very good development.

2) On another website about 43 things people want to do in their lifetime, I now have the opportunity to actually accomplish some of these things I listed. For instance, I'm writing.

3) I don't have Mother's guilt for leaving Edgar every day in the blue bathroom. He's a much happier dog.

4) I'm working on a healthier lifestyle with my physical therapy and cooking good meals.

5) I'm taking care of things that we all should but never have the time like doing a house inventory for insurance purposes.

6) I'm a much happier person for my husband to come home to every night/day (depending upon his call schedule) and I can be a better stress absorber for him.

7) I'm not too drained to attend social events after being extroverted all day long. We actually went to the graduation and the interns karaoke party in one weekend...this was unheard of before. J karaoked, I did not. The last time I did was my 22nd birthday in New Orleans and Prince's "Raspberry Beret" will never be the same.

8) Reflection, reflection, reflection

Honey, We're Not In Utah Anymore

One of the radio stations has a No-Refusal Request hour where literally, anything goes. One can hear anything from Menudo to Ratt. We like to call it the schizophrenic station. However, the other night coming home from getting some ice cream (how Utah is that?), we heard some lyrics that almost made us pull off the road.

"Let me ask you somethin.' What time of the day do you like to make love? Have you ever made love before breakfast? Have you ever made love while you watch the late late show? Well let me ask you this, have you ever made love on a couch..."

It was primetime on the radio. We were both laughing so hard we were crying. You too can catch the action. The song is called, "Strokin" (again, not kidding), and the artist is Clarence Carter.

Undefined and Un-nerved

Last night I went to a graduation party for the outgoing residents with my husband. It was strange to be in a room with people J has known for 3 years, began his intern year with, and know that we will probably never see them again. J has one more year of residency given his chosen track. It was also strange to be in a social situation where I was officially unemployed.

One of our friends came up to me and was dying to know what happened. Her best friend worked in one of the programs I supervised. Apparently there are several rumors and theories floating about my departure. This is to be expected, I suppose. What was difficult was trying to figure out what exactly I could say and what exactly I should say. I landed somewhere in the middle still not knowing exactly if I did the right thing.

Perhaps I was a bit sensitive to this as I received a very cowardly comment on my post regarding my resignation. One cannot say that they are anonymous while then pretending to be the two individuals I named. For all this person knows, I made up the names (as I frequently do) to protect everyone involved. I've changed them once again, BTW, just to keep everyone guessing.

Let me clarify: I do not wish these people badness. Its not productive nor does it bring about good karma. I believe that they acted to the best of their abilities, which in my opinion fell short of what was needed. I too acted to the best of my ability. Its a tough situation. In light of the comment received, it caused me to reflect and change the moderation on my comments section. Too bad, really, as my trust has dropped precipitously. I've been more angry at this one individual than I have with anyone during this whole ordeal. Its a bit of displacement, but I'm ok with that too. I do wish the individual who did write the comment to speak up for a real dialogue, but chances are, they won't.

I once had an ex-boyfriend do a low blow by opening up my moving boxes and reading all of my journals. He then re-taped the boxes and moved out while I was at work. When I came back to our apartment he announced he was abandoning me and told me about the trust violation. It has taken me many many years to figure out how to write once again from my heart with no codes alluding to situations fearing that the information could end up in the wrong hands. I write for me. This is my outlet, my emotional vomit, so to speak. One cowardly individual will not change that, but has caused me to redesign a few things.

I have a lot of feelings on now being undefined in the way that society expects you to be. My MIL was highly concerned about how I was doing, according to a conversation she had with my husband the other night. She asked if I was fired. J restated that I resigned. However, there is some sort of shame involved when people don't know the whole story and I have to find that balance of telling my truth without compromising my integrity or my potential future employment somewhere else. If I say too much, I am a risk to a future employer as I look like I lack discretion. However, if I say too little then I look like I was terminated/fired/let go/pushed out/discarded/etc.

A few weeks ago when this drama was unfolding, my father suggested that I lawyer up. Granted it was well past cocktail hour. And when I didn't agree, he went straight to the jugular stating I wasn't listening to his advice and that I was a washed up, has been, who was fired. I was smart enough to know that these were is own issues and told him to put Mom back on the phone. He was just being mean for the sake of being mean which isn't uncommon when he's swimming in a bottle. But he's my father and of course it hit a nerve because his opinion will always matter. At least I was smart enough to recognize the dynamics, not take the bait, and terminate that conversation. This is something I wouldn't have done even a few years ago. I do not have that kind of relationship with my MIL to say what I need to say, even though I really value her opinion of me as well.

I honestly feel like a burden at this point in time to my husband and I fear how that will manifest in our relationship. He has been nothing but supportive and I know this has taken a toll on him. The pressure of being a sole breadwinner for two people and a dog is huge. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like if we had kids. Part of me feels like I should be enjoying the break, but its hard to relax when you feel uninteresting as a human being. We devise so much of our self-identity from what we do. People talk about what they did at work at the end of a day. My days have become pretty uninteresting all because I lost identification by resigning a large part of who I thought I was.

Riding the Wave

So here I am on day 3 of being a temporary SAHW...certainly doesn't have the same appeal as a SAHM, as far as the acronym goes. I've kept myself busy by doing what housewives do, I suppose, by taking care of the house. Edgar incidentally is getting his haircut, so I'm a bit lonely today (which is so stupid, I realize.)

First, I've been trying to organize the chaos that comes with water damage. You see, we had to replace our water heater. After a nice flood and an expired warranty from 2001, it was time to bring in the Power Miser 9 a la Sears. My first call into the Sears call center was with an ESL lady by the name of Daisy. She was very polite and sweet, but finally I just had to tell her it was my fault and to please connect me with someone else. Here I am, the supposedly culturally sensitive social worker, and I couldn't understand what she was saying. After being on hold for another 10 minutes I just called back and explained to the next call center representative what had happened. He then told me that he knew who I was talking about and I was the third caller that night with the same problem. Ok, so now I felt terrible! Daisy was very sweet and called me back because we were disconnected and wanted to make sure I got everything taken care of. Yup, I felt lower than slime at that point. But, we did get our new water heater installed the next day.

The water heater was just one problem in the line of many. Our master bathroom toilet has been leaking as well. Getting out my Home Depot, DIY 1-2-3 book, J and I diagnosed it as a wax seal issue. This is something I knew I couldn't handle with a bad back nor did my husband have the time to fix it, so we called in more plumbers. They also fixed some broken stems on our master bathroom sink. Can't wait to see this bill. But see, now we have flooded carpets in two rooms.

J and I ventured to Home Depot to see about getting either a wet/dry vac or a heavy duty blower thingy for the carpet, especially since we live in mold/mildew central. When we talked to the rental guy he advised us it would be cheaper if we just bought our own blower vs. renting it. This completely overwhelmed J so as we sat in the patio furniture display I could see by his blank stare that we were not moving forward with a solution anytime soon. I called Mom to see what her recommendations were: hire a carpet cleaner. We did this months earlier, who by the way did nothing noticeable and I felt we were ripped off.

The other morning J disappeared into the back bedroom where the water heater resided in the closet with surgical material. I just kind of blew it off and went back to doing my own thing. I did ask what he was doing and he said he was suturing the carpet. This actually didn't seem odd to me. J practices his suturing on Edgar's torn up stuffed animals. However, why we have left over cat gut suture, hemostats, alligator needles, and other hospital things in our house is beyond me. I typically put all of the random medical supplies that travel home in his pockets into a drawer. We have quite the impressive assortment of tongue depressors, alcohol pads and gloves, just in case anyone was wondering. 30 minutes later he came out and got Edgar's leash. As the dog bounced around thinking he was going on a walk, I became more baffled.

"I fixed the problem." J announced proudly. "Now we have more circulation under the carpet to dry it out."

Well, all I can say is I wouldn't have thought of this on my own or in my DIY 1,2,3 book. While he sutured the carpet edge, he then attached the dog leash to the suturing and the closet rod. The photos speak for themselves.

Take This Job and Shove It

For the longest time, various men in my life (my husband included), have tried to convince me that "Office Space" is a really really good movie. I have never been able to sit through the whole thing as it creates such a visceral response in me. It touches a nerve that just resonates on that feeling of being trapped and really feeling like you haven't contributed anything in life. That to me, is ultimate failure. So around the part where characters being to ask if, umm, yeah, did you see the memo? I begin to feel my skin crawl.

For three weeks of May I was out on Vicodin, Skelaxin, spinal injections, and physical therapy. I don't do work when I'm on narcotics, so it yielded a lot of self-reflection. On Memorial Day weekend someone asked me if I was missing work and I inadvertently replied by unintentionally quoting a movie line from "Office Space." "I wouldn't say I was exactly missing work." J got a grin from ear to ear and knew the time was ripe for yet another go around of me watching the movie. Last weekend I finally sat through "Office Space" and actually enjoyed it.

The last week of May was a pivoting point. By Thursday I finally worked my way into my bosses schedules for a catch up meeting. One would have thought they would have prioritized me into their schedules, but whatever. My contempt for them could no longer hide and after a very convoluted conversation I finally said, "I can't do this anymore. I just don't think I'm a good fit." It seems like a very P.C. thing to say until I went on to tell them what exactly I dislike about my job, specifically their (lack of) leadership. I finally listed my strengths, what I thought I could contribute to the organization and said if they could find a fit for me we can move forward otherwise I think we should part ways. Man it felt empowering to say all of this out loud!

However, I dreaded coming back and telling my husband. He actually took it really well. His eye brow raised and his eyes looked really big for a second while I re-enacted the life changing line, but he then returned to normal and said, "Well, it seems like you committed political suicide, but then again you are a lot more successful than I am in the business realm, this is how you would react authentically, you hate this job, and life is too short for you to be unhappy." I couldn't believe how supportive this man is! Everything he did or said just reconfirmed exactly why we are together.

The following Tuesday I was scheduled for a meeting with my bosses and they offered to create another position for me that really didn't exist with a dock in pay, time limited to 4-6 months, and with the understanding that they would "spin this." Essentially, they were buying my silence. Oh, and they needed an answer RIGHT NOW. I told them I would get back to them tomorrow after speaking with my husband. After talking with another colleague in the field he pointed out that I was the organizational darling, all other existing leadership were being compared to me on a weekly basis (hence, why I really never was accepted as a peer), and if I just left it would point to an inadequacy on their part. Could I stay and keep my integrity? After waking up my post-call husband with the urgency that we needed to talk, we both came to the same conclusion: Not on your life.

I walked in the next day and told my coordinators team that I was resigning. A couple cried, most looked shocked. I explained the whole situation and why I had come to that conclusion. I then quickly typed up my letter of resignation and went down to administration. It was the calmest I had felt during my tenure. One boss wouldn't speak to me, the other was angry and in not so many words threatened me with a bad reference. They were betting on me taking the deal. I then met with the CEO to tell her exactly why I was leaving. She was just truly baffled even by my line that "it wasn't a good fit." She said that they took a big risk hiring me, I had a huge future there, and with all of the incredible work I was doing, she could only see it as a failure on their part. She wanted me to walk her through from the interview process to now as to what happened. I finally leveled with her that the only reason I was leaving was because of the "Dick and Jane Show," which is what all of the leadership call our bosses on admin. These two are a histrionic gay man in recovery and active alcoholic woman, co-dependent couple who are so unhealthy, its killing the organization. I cited specific examples where I had to clarify what their jobs were because they didn't know (literally), the waste of time our bi-weekly 6 hour meetings were, and how unsafe my peers felt because of their personal ethics. I always questioned what was being said behind my back. I acknowledged that I knew she believed in their efforts and I was smart enough to know when to move mountains and when to go around them. In the end, I chose to leave. She finally nodded and said she understood. She also said that I could count on her for a reference and to please give any employer her direct line.

The next day I spend all of my time informing my teams of the change. The reactions were varied, as expected. After all, a 60% approval rate in politics is unheard of and considered a HUGE success. I had a couple cry, one guy threw his pen and walked out after telling me I was the best thing that had happened and now I was leaving, and a few smiled. After telling people in the leadership team of my decision, I was literally dismissed by Dick. He also said that although 30 days is customary, it was not necessary and the sooner I was out the better. Oohkay.

I came back to my office to have my phone ringing off the hook as well as boxes mysteriously appearing on my floor. Colleagues from the community were calling me asking me what the hell happened. How did they know? Oh, Dick sent out an email that morning explaining I was no longer employed to the community, with the implication that I was fired. I was not cc'd. My trusted friend forwarded it to me and then promptly asked for my resume. I decided to ignore Dick's email and send out my own resignation letter with the official line of me deciding it was "not a good fit" and with grace wishing the organization the best. No way was I burning any potential bridges. However, war was declared between Dick and me.

I knew he was going to send out an email announcing my departure to the organization, but after what he did, I beat him to the punch. He was PISSED and sent me an email asking what the hell was I thinking, also cc'd to the CEO. I forwarded his original email sent to the community telling him I was disturbed and disappointed in his decision to go against our planned communication of telling staff before everyone else. I also said it implied I was fired but I thought I had done good work for them and while politically they didn't owe me anything, it would have been a nice personal and professional courtesy for us to have worded something together. I also cc'd the CEO. I haven't heard anything from him since. Uh huh, don't fuck with me, bitch.

My last day is tomorrow. In the meantime I've had one job interview (potential solid offer) for part time consulting, another phone call on a resume, and three requests from the community for my resume. I can't wait to get rid of this negative energy. I feel lighter, happier, and so much better. Harking back to the movie, while I did not take a fax machine out to a field and smash it with a baseball bat, I did feel extremely rewarded for throwing away my "I'm proud to be an employee" travel mug.