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

April 17: The Phantom, More Bad News, Gloom

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached.  When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.

I think you can all guess which spirit the above passage describes.  Yesterday's rejection fest didn't end when I got home.  I got a call from a friend shortly after I walked through the door, and she told me I didn't win an award for which I was nominated.  I've been nominated for the same award several times in the past.  Each time, I have lost to a very deserving person, and this year is no different.  However, I really didn't need to receive that news last night.  It just managed to spread a pall over the rest of the evening.  This morning, I am Dickens' Phantom, scattering gloom wherever my ass happens to land.

I never begrudge deserving people success.  I may joke and complain about it, but, in the end, I can suck it up and admit defeat graciously.  However, I really thought I had a shot this year.  Meryl Streep won an Oscar a couple months ago.  The year 2013 was supposed to be my Iron Lady year.  Me and Meryl, taking home the gold.  Now, I'm just sitting in the audience, listening to another person's acceptance speech.

I hope I don't sound bitter and angry.  I hope I sound witty and sarcastic.  It's a more attractive persona.  Perhaps next year, I will deliver a stronger performance.  Perhaps next year, I could play Julia Child or Margaret Thatcher.

This year, Saint Marty has to watch Kathy Bates win for Misery.

I'm smiling and clapping in my seat