A Rash of Rain
This has a poor title. For one, it lacks any meaning since there has been little rain here (except for some sporadic trickling in the night and mumbling thunder). For another, the concepts of rash and rain fit together poorly; they don’t even have the merit of lame irony. Finally, it’s a weak stab at cuteness, one that falls upon the tiresome crutch of alliteration.
Clearly, my writing abilities have crapped out. Still, on we plod …
It seems I may not have a job soon. I won’t know for a month or so but uncertainty is in the air once again. This occurs every few years or so. It is cyclical, similar to (and tied in with) economic performance. When the economy tanks often the first pronouncement from companies is, “Get rid of the writers!”
Well, perhaps it’s not that overt. But it is true in the sense that few companies see any benefit in having writers despite the fact that everyone in a company is desperate for one, every company suffers from poor communications internally and externally, and writers are paid peanuts compared to upper management personnel.
I think writers are sometimes on the outs because they aren’t usually part of the golf crowd. That’s just a guess, however.
The effect of it all, for me, is a sense of irritable dismay. I’ll be honest, it terms of personal finances my ducks are definitely not in a row. Rather, they seem to be scattered like playing cards. So …
My trip back east is cancelled. (As a contractor, I don’t get paid when I take time off – this cost is compounded by the wildly high prices of Canadian domestic flights; going home is priced beyond me.) My debt load is higher than it should be (though not as bad as some). It has to come down – more funds must be funnelled in this direction.)
End result … a hot, grim summer worrying about money. How tedious.
(Why are so many blogs just so much moan and groan. Note to self: must change this. Who wants to hear someone bitch?)