January 23: I Was Going to Write About...

I was going to write about guilt in this post, but I don't have the energy for it.  I'm too tired.

I was going to write about Citizen Kane and "Rosebud," but that would involve talking about childhood and loss of innocence.  I'm too tired.

I was going to write about Christmas music, and how it lifts my spirits even in the summer months.  But I don't have enough yule to deck my tide at the moment.  I'm too tired.

I was going to write about American Idol again, but I fell asleep watching it.  I'm too tired.

I was going to write about my how much snow we got this morning, but I'm sick of talking about the weather.  I did it all day long.  I'm too tired.

Saint Marty was going to write about a lot of things.  But he's just too damn tired.

Don't care about Rosebud tonight

December 3: Too Damn Tired, Worry Everywhere, Jobs

I nodded, because he was looking right at me and all, but I wasn't sure what he was talking about.  I was pretty sure I knew, but I wasn't too positive at the time.  I was too damn tired.

Holden is really tired.  He's practically asleep on his feet.  Mr. Antolini, his former teacher, is trying to talk some common sense into him in the above quote.  Holden doesn't give a crap about common sense.  He just wants to go to bed.

It's been quite a day, and I'm as tired as Holden right now.  When I got to the medical office this morning, I found out the health care organization for which I work had executed another round of arbitrary terminations.  People who have been loyal and hardworking employees for a very long time, 20 and 30 years in some cases.  Gone.  "Early retirement" for one person.  Escorted off the hospital grounds by security guards for another.

It cast a pall over the entire day.  Nobody feels safe or secure in the positions, least of all me.  Nurses and surgical techs, they have important skills.  Hard-to-replace skills.  Me?  I'm just a lowly medical records clerk.  That's my official title.  I'm probably the most replaceable person in the office.  It's always reassuring to be so . . . not needed.

There was worry everywhere today, from my coworkers and boss.  Call us the expendables.  On Thursday morning, we expendables are invited to attend a meeting at the hospital where the remaining leadership is going to try to convince us how lucky we are.  The only exciting prospect of the meeting is the free breakfast being provided.  It's always customary to provide a last meal for the condemned, I suppose.

I am grateful for my jobs, even if they don't pay all my bills.  I have jobs.  I'm a lot luckier than a whole bunch of other people I know.

Saint Marty simply wishes he felt grateful this evening.  He doesn't.  He feels as if at any moment the ground might split open and swallow him up.

I know how he feels