What doesn't kill you will leave you writhing in pain

Yesterday's to-do list went quite well, other than the frustrating conversation about my 401/Pension Fund account. But eventually even that will work out. I filed for unemployment benefits online, and according to them I have 45 skills. An automatic message suggested I look into adding to my skills to make me more marketable. It didn't say more marketable as what. And five, count 'em five boxes of personal belongings arrived. Now, I know of two, and I know I took what I wanted with me, so those five boxes should be interesting. On today's list: me and the trash barrel going through those five boxes. Or maybe I should just dump them unopened.

It occurs to me that I worked in the same place for 17 years and three months and came away without one friend. Not one. I think that says a lot about me--a lot I'd rather not explore at the moment. Yesterday, someone I knew suggested I take in a room mate post haste. She wouldn't want a room mate, but she suggested I get one. Can you imagine anyone who would want to share anything with me? Neither can I. The hospital bill came, so this will not be a day without spending money.

Yesterday's conversation about my pension fund was frustrating. I wanted to get everything done before the blackout, which I was told was on the 30th--but they moved it up to yesterday. Convenient, don't you think? But the guy in charge told me to call this administrator and that administrator and they told me to call him. Then I get a snotty note about how I can't do anything until Nov. 11, which he did say, right before he told me to call someone else. I end up feeling jacked around and they end up feeling I am a pain and all of it means I cannot roll that money over until November. Somehow, I think this does not bode well for me.

I've explored the employment opportunities available to me and think maybe the Eskimos have it right when they put the elderly on ice floes. Something will come up, I will survive, and everything happens for a reason. At least I did not wake up with a panic attack. I count that as a minor victory.

17 years working in one place and all I have to show for it are five boxes of crap and a sense of foreboding. I suppose it could be worse.