Salvaged from LiveJournal: February 10th, 2002

mood:  depressed

music: Sarah McLachlan - Surfacing

Why is it that even though I know I don't want to be defined by my job that losing it is such a devastating blow? And also that I really hated it for the last couple of months but I would've much rather been one of the "unfortunate ones" that didn't get the the severance package and they have to show up for work? At least they have jobs in this sucky, sucky job market.

The days of The Man Of The House are gone, but simple economics made me the main provider for my family. My degree got me a higher salary, and my wife will be leaving teaching for a little while (maybe longer?) to give birth to/take care of my not-here-yet son or daughter. So I wish I still had a job I hate rather than be forced to look for a job now. God, I hate looking for work. I hate putting myself up for judgement by another person who may or may not see my potential. I feel like any job I apply for, if I got it I would justify the decision to hire me within 2 months. But it's getting over that initial obstacle that's the real bitch. In all of my on-campus interviewing in 1999, I got 2--count them: two--2nd interviews. Exactly one of them lead to a job offer. It seemed like a good job at the time, but things changed so much. And now I've been laid off from that job anyway.

My managers told me it's not personal, but screw them. I know that the company buying them out handed down a mandate to get all Information Technology out of Chicago and back to NY, but screw them. Short of my wife leaving me, laying me off is one of the most intensely personal things that can happen to me at this point. You're telling me that my skills and knowledge are simply not worth the amount of money you've been giving me. Ever hear of telecommuting? I busted my ass for this company, and I got the boot. Well, screw them.

For anyone overly concerned: don't be. I'll be ok. If I can find some job by May, the layoff package will keep us in food and diapers until then. And I'm not as emotionally unstable as this post may seem. I just needed to vent, and punching the kitchen wall didn't seem to help much. I just felt stupid, and now I have a hole to patch up.