It's been a hard couple of weeks.
First it was my old co-worker Leah, who died after years of health complications and was waked at a small service a few weeks ago. Then my company, where I'd worked for over a decade doing good work alongside people I liked and admired, suffered a catastrophic loss of revenue due to all closures of governments, universities, and think tanks. Travel restrictions, shelter in place orders, and flight cancellations meant that our entire spring marketing schedule was wiped out at a stroke, which meant no way to drum up more business to tide us over. All of our contract workers were let go, and several of the newer employees.
I think you can guess what happened next.
The end came for me on Thursday, and even though I'd half-expected it, it was still painful. Management did not want to let me go, and I could hear the agony in the voices of the people who actually had to give me the separation paperwork and told me I was done. Our senior VP insisted on buying me lunch at a local takeout place, and instead of being escorted out to my car with a box of my possessions, I was allowed to take as much time as I needed to finish up my work, pack up my belongings, and clean my work area. I was able to sign up for unemployment before I left, and when it was finally time the senior VP gave me a hug and said how sorry he was (for about the fortieth time).
I also received a severance package that was more than generous, plus my last wages, accumulated vacation, sick, and personal time. The total was enough that along with unemployment payments, I should be able to get through the end of the year.
I'm also now eligible for Mass Health, the state Medicaid program, thanks to Mitt Romney's universal health care law. I never thought I'd be grateful to the Man Who So Desperately Wanted To Be President, but when I think about what an illness or disease would do to me, well, give credit where credit is due. So thanks, Mittster, for the one good thing you ever did for Massachusetts and for me.
Needless to say, I'm not in the mood to write anything funny tonight. I will have plenty of time to be humorous next week, since there's every chance Charlie Baker might close the state down and it's either write or lose my mind completely. So here's the lineup through the end of May, when we should know if the Apocalypse has actually arrived or if we've managed to blunder our way through to the other side:
March 28 Colonial Dames Speak Out – Or Do They?
April 4 The Melancholy Gael Who Wasn't
April 11 Pope John Anglius Takes a Tumble
April 18 Dean Swift's War Against the Undead
April 25 The Boy Inventor of Shopton
May 2 “The Schnauzers Fly At Midnight;” or, The Silly History of World War II
May 9 The Misuse of the Middle Ages
May 16 Melting Down the RWA
May 23 Fashionable Food For Your Summer Barbecue
May 30 Sir Percy Blakeney Looks at the World
So there you have the spring 2020 lineup. If nothing else, writing this will force me back to the laptop and keep me amused during these dark and ugly days, and I hope they'll do the same for you.
Be well, my friends and faithful readers, and remember: we will get through this. I don't know how or when, but if my mother's generation could survive the Great Depression and World War II, we can survive this.
I hope.
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Has your livelihood been impacted by Cadet Bone Spurs' Katrina? Are you sheltering in place? Are your relatives safe and well? Do you have any ideas for future diaries? Keep your social distance but share....
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