As for the terms of my transition (to whatever might come next), I'd like to think getting fair treatment was a simple as following the letter of the law and otherwise threatening a lawsuit, but I happen to know the company counsel - I worked across the hall from her for five years and am friends with her assistant - so I know she is wily, heartless, and never loses. (Also? A big, giant closet case who is fooling no one.) Anyway, who has the time and money for a lawsuit? No, my best bet here is to suck it up and behave as nicely as I can to try to get semi-decent terms from the powers that be.
Ay, there’s the rub, too, because it’s not the fact of being “restructured” that bothers me – heck, I’m the one who was asking them to figure out a way to lay me off not a year ago. It’s that they have so much power over me that makes me crazy. I know that it’s for the best that I get out of this job and find a career that makes me happy, but they’ve taken away my opportunity to do it under my own terms. I was looking for a new job without the duress of possible lengthy unemployment hanging over my head, and now I feel just that much more panicked and stressed to find something now, now, NOW – even if it means just accepting what comes along next.
What’s more, I’ve let them get to me again. The announcement put me into a state of shock yesterday, and triggered my low self-esteem and fears that I don’t have enough qualifications to get a job where people are treated like human beings, again. That’s what I’m mad about: not the loss of the job, but the degrading treatment. Now I find myself having to ask them in writing for the terms in writing, while I keep one eye peeled over my shoulder to see if security is coming to my desk to unceremoniously escort me from the building at any time (trust me, that’s par for the course, here).
Oh, and yesterday afternoon, I got to go to the endocrinologist, who had a distinctly Russian bedside manner (i.e. blunt as an boxer and no sense of humour or gentleness) and kept informing me how very fat I am. To her credit, however, she’s the first doctor who’s ever told me straight up that I clearly was born with a crappy metabolism, and although it’s unfair and will be harder for me than it is for most people, I just have to deal with the cards I’ve been dealt with and work harder accordingly. You’d think that would be depressing, but I already knew it, so it’s nice to have it confirmed and addressed, rather than getting some kind of saccharine pep-talk about how I can do it and things will be great in no time. (Saccharine because it’s sweetly false, but also a diet-related pun. See what I did there? Ah, I’m a genius.)
Anyway, I’m feeling a bit better and clearer today. I’m setting up a list of things I have to do, goals, etc., which gives me a better handle on it. Mrs. Nator has been wonderful, reminding me of how it was when the same thing happened to her, and letting me know that she fully expects me to have episodes of anger and crying jags, and it’s okay to do that, even if I also believe this will end up being a good thing.
Also, apparently Qenny has invited us to live with him and his Lovely Husband in New Zealand, so that’s nice. “Alternative families” are always cooler with with non-American accents. ;o)
I swear I’ll blog about something else, soon. Thanks for “listening” and being kind, gang. Kiss, kiss!