At work earlier this afternoon I was summoned into a meeting room and made redundant, with immediate effect. I am ‘no longer needed or useful; superfluous’, according to the Google definition.
Lovely. Just what you want to be told on a drizzly Tuesday afternoon two weeks before Christmas. I wasn’t expecting it at all. It’s like being dumped by a guy you thought really liked you, the kind that pays for the dinner and laughs at all your jokes all night but then never texts you back.
I swept up all my stuff and dragged myself out of the office unceremoniously, trying not to think about the fact that I’ve got just four weeks to find myself another job, with the threat of another load of rent and bills to pay in January (that shit is relentless).
But it’s okay. It happens. It wasn’t personal and I’m not angry, I don’t have children to feed (just two guinea pigs but luckily grass is free), I don’t have a mortgage and I’d only been in the job for six months. I’m young, I’m not set in my ways, I like change.
It’s just…I don’t WANT to write a million cover letters and face a million rejections and worry about job interviews and all of that stuff that comes with looking for a job.
What I really want is to make a lovely little office for myself in my spare room and write for people – write business site copy, write columns for magazines, write features for papers. I want to be able to get up and do a few star jumps if I want, go for a jog at lunchtime, sing if I feel like it – the sort of stuff you can’t really do if you work in an office with other people. Maybe now that I’ve been forced out of employment, I should take my skills into my own hands and really make an effort to go it alone as a freelancer…