oh for GOD's sake

I've started to morph into a fucking Klingon.

I have two ridges on my forehead appearing to be coming from some hideous growths beneath the skin which are red in hue. The feeble minded could suggest that I have two outsized spots in the making, but this is complete nonsense as:

1. I am too old and age HAS to have some consolations

2. The blemish and wrinkle combination is a well known suicide trigger and I don't want to die just yet. But I am increasingly sympathetic to this school of thought.

My cold consolation is that the grotesquesness of my now outsized forehead is balanced out by the tumour-like growth which is growing at the tip of my chin. Cunningly though, it is so deeply buried that while my chin looks pointy pointy, it looks permanently so. Perhaps forehead and chin may meet somewhere out front of my nose and so, in a very displeasing way, my long cherished hope that my nose will one day be not the strongest feature on my face will come true.

....and we're back

well, I am at least. Singular. Still.

However, that's not what I am dwelling on today. Mercifully. Actually, today I thought I'd talk about what's happened at work. We just let a shedload of people go. Not just us though, the whole industry has, so if you are one of the unluckies, your chances of picking up another job pronto, and at whatever your salary level was, is slim. (I may just have elevated understatement to an art form there. Very proud.)

Unbelievably, I made the cut and am staying.

How am I rewarding the company? Blogging.

My contrary behaviour is now legendary. This fits neatly alongside the fact that whenever a serious relationship slips the leash, I immediately find engagement rings in windows incredibly attractive, each wedding dress shop is like a little heavy gravity pocket, pulling me in.

It is also somewhat confusing to me that people, when given the chance, do not take the money and run, but rather work out their notice. I suppose it is more confusing to me that they are allowed to. Fecks with the karma of those left behind. You're left to sit in the funk of your own survivor guilt with them acting as a mute daily reminder of your good fortune versus their not-so-good fortune.

I do feel sad for them, but really, when will I be allowed to say - out loud - that I am glad for me and that now we just have to stop wallowing and get on with it?