Today is my birthday; I just turned 44. For my birthday, I have:
1) Been laid off from my job last Wednesday morning. I was given absolutely no notice that it was coming. And after being there for more than a year, I got quite the princely severance package: They paid me through the end of the pay period. Wow. Four whole days. And only part of the accrued PTO they owed me. And they made sure they dinged me for half a day of sick time for going home early on Monday. The management of that company most certainly are a class act.
2) A new motorcycle I don’t know how I’m going to pay for. I bought my new bike 10 days before I got laid off. The asshats in Item #1 all knew I was planning to buy this new motorcycle even as they knew they were planning to cut me loose. Nobody even hinted that this might not be the right time for me to be making major purchases. Nothin’ but class…
3) Absolutely no prospects for a new job and no idea when or where or how I’ll find a new one. What I do know is that I’m fucking sick to death of having to find a new fucking job every fucking year.
So happy fucking birthday to me. I’m not quite as bitter as I seem here, but I do definitely want The Universe to get the message loud and clear that It can kiss my hairy white ass.
And I’m turning comments off on this entry because I don’t want to hear it from any of you. You don’t have to kiss it, but I’d rather you didn’t send me any inspirational or sympathetic crap that I’ll feel duty-bound to respond to, either. Just hold those warm fuzzies in your heart — and keep them to yourself. Seriously, I mean it.