I am remarkably sanguine about everything from watching my so-called net worth plummet like a rocket-sled on rails, to coming in yesterday to the news that our CEO and four of his hand-picked VPs had suddenly "left by mutual agreement with the board." Oh yes, and there is restructuring (currently pegged by the WSJ at 20-25 of us being "outplaced") coming in the wake of the mess that fomented on their watch. I am watching all this and have no idea what it all means, and thus canapos;t really work up the agitation a lot of my coworkers seem to have. Insufficient data, and even if you had it, you couldnapos;t do anything about it anyway, so why let it affect you?
I feel like Iapos;m living in Historic Times. Itapos;s History, happening around me, the kind that goes into the books. It rouses a certain fascination and interest. I donapos;t feel alarmed at all. Itapos;s more like peering into a colony of army ants, seeing how it moves. Ah, a couple of them have latched onto your foot? Step back, and keep studying, but be aware of the hazard zone...
I canapos;t figure out where my head is on all this, except I have this urge to pop open a bottle of good wine (the amount of good wine consumed out of my personal stores in the past month is starting to become apparent). And I keep thinking of the woman at the Stevenot tasting room, all those years ago, commenting that you keep the really GOOD stuff not for special occasions, because those are already special, but for when life really sucks. I guess Iapos;m going to sit around with good friends and toast with the last of the Old Wineyards, as the War of the Ring looms. Plenty of time to worry about Mordor when the Orcs cross the Brandywine...
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