Slow Day, Last Day

I'd thought to reply to Christie Blatchford's piece in this morning's Globe on the torture revelations coming out of Iraq, but have not been able to focus myself.

Not because it's been busy here at the office - I've taken fewer than a half-dozen calls since coming in (hardly at all late!) at 7:30 this morning - but quite possibly because I have been in count-down mode.

In 53 minutes (as I type this line), I will be blissfully unemployed for 9 days. Sadly, I have so far made no plans at all, aside from getting together with Laura. Or maybe not so sadly; what I need is a vacation and simply taking things as they come may be just what the doctor ordered.

Whatever. This is clearly a lame entry, likely not helped by the copious amounts of alcohol I've been consuming this week, drawn as I have been to sunny Queen Street patios after work - I wonder if I should be glad it's cool and not-so-sunny this afternoon.

On the other hand, it is my last day; surely now is the time to celebrate?

(Oh shut up, Young Geoffrey.)

I'll likely be at Rhino's, should anyone care to watch me get thoroughly lunched.

Free At Last! Thank - er, something - I Am Free At Last

(Drunkard's note: the following was composed over a couple of hours at Rhino's and transcribed after arriving home. Both the grammar and the logic may be sketchy - not to mention the spelling.)

On Luck, Part I

Talking to the folks at the (former) office about my recent good fortune, I've tried to downplay just how happy I am about my prospective future. Not just because I have so manifestly "lucked out", but because so many of them have not.

Almost all of them have been (and are) actively looking for other work; many of them have been sending out resumes, like eager college graduates, on a thrice-daily basis. I haven't sent out a single one.

The most common report? No response at all, not even an acknowledgement that the resume has been received, let alone an offer of an interview.

(And remember: My co-workers and I are the survivors of a group that number over 130 two and a half years ago, now whittled down - without benefit of a union contract's seniority rules - to an official 20.

(We - they - are the cream of the crop: bright, conscientious, hard-working.)

That so many of them are dark-skinned or otherwise visually minorities tempts me to wonder about racism; that none of them were interviewed in person leads me to less paranoid thoughts.

Nevertheless, I have tried to downplay my happy circumstances - that I sent out no (NO) resumes; that I spoke with no (NO) friends or acquaintances whom might have leads; &ct.

That I just - less than 2 weeks ago, and more than 3 and a half years since leaving Web Networks, out of the proverbial blue got a call from Web wondering if I might be interested in an "employment opportunity" - one that promises to be challenging, interesting and, quite possible, one about which I will actually care - had something dropped onto my lap out of (apparently) nowhere, seems somehow unfair.

So, yes: I've been feeling lucky, as if some god in whom I don't believe has suddenly decided to prove his existence by granting me a miracle for which I hadn't even thought of asking.

But, more than one of my aforementioned co-workers argued that my superstition was misplaced, while I was doing the farewell rounds.

It wasn't luck, they claimed, that created my fortune.

"Obviously," said Richard, "it says a lot about your character, that they remembered you after so long."

"It speaks highly of the work you did," said Georgia. "Why else would they still have you in mind?"

And maybe: Why else indeed?

The truth is, I do do good work and almost always have. Whether delivering packages or washing dishes; writing radio scripts or re-installing Microcrap's Dial-Up Networking, I've always had a sense of pride about being good at what I do.

I'm a bright boy and so pick up on things quickly - why shouldn't Web want me back?

And in theory, I try not to be falsely modest.

And yet ...

And yet - even now, decompressing (as it were) 3 and a half years doing a job I was heartily sick of 2 years gone now - and yet, I still find it hard (emotionally) to credit my good fortune to any effort or skill of my own.

Maybe if I had sent out a resume or 3 before this happened I wouldn't feel so much like this happened to me, rather than that I earned it?

Whatever.

I walked out on 3 and a half years of my life this afternoon. What comes next, I guess, is as much in my hands as it is in anyone else's.

Lucky? Maybe, maybe not.

Fortunate? Yes; yes I am.