A little soppy background...
Today, I am exactly six weeks away from joblessness. I have known for a year, so it's not exactly the angry, bitter layoff that most people endure. It's more like living in a house with your ex for a year after getting divorced and moving on to happy new relationships: In this case, the new relationship I'm enjoying is with myself, rediscovering what it's like to think about me and my needs every workday instead of trying to lay the groundwork for the future, enforce policies, placate others. Our current directive is to show up occasionally, clean up behind ourselves and turn out the lights when we're finished. Fortunately, the two men who work for me are reasonably happy at the prospect of moving on as well, so my inherently guilty conscience is resting easy. So, that covers the joblessness front for today.
And then there's the second pillar of my life today: infertility. In July of last year, I was sure I was unexpectedly pregnant. I wasn't, but it got me to thinking, and the months since then have been spent covertly trying, contemplating the continuing failure--smoldering in the warm ashes that make up the very specific frustration of infertility. Importantly, my husband, J, with whom I am entirely besotted, is willing but not enthusiastic (at the risk of using an obvious metaphor, I would call him "gun shy") and while I can share anything else with him, this is one area in which he has neither the inclination nor capacity to get truly involved. He still doesn't think we're "trying".
The sky is blue outside my windows (with the layoffs, I am now in the executive corner office that has two full walls of glass--a special perk that I have enjoyed immensely) and I have a beautiful peach to eat after lunch. Can't complain.