Hit me with the morphine one more time. That's more like it. Maybe I can stumble into some drug induced sense of clarity in the aftermath of joining the ranks of the unemployed. A sense of dread started to overtake me about 120 hours ago. This isn't the first time I've found myself on the beach. But it is the first time I've actually applied for jobless benefits. It's the first time I've felt that finding another job may be a real bitch.
I've spent the last two plus years working for a company called Global 5. It's based out of Orlando and they've made a name for themselves as a public information company that knows a thing or two about transportation issues. I took the job expecting that I could ride this horse to retirement or at the very least three to four years. But a funny thing happened on the way to 2010. The project to which I was assigned is came to an end a hell of a lot faster than anyone could have ever dreamed.
All that federal stimulus money that could have extended and given the residents of Southwest Florida what they really wanted, which was 35 miles of expanded interstate, went poof. Instead the Florida Department of Transportation decided to extend a road in south Fort Myers that most drivers could give two hoots about. Folks around here wanted more of the interstate widened. It's all politics. I'm not bitter, not much at least.
The real kick is that I would really like to return to the newsroom. I'm one sick puppy. The TV news business is on life support. Most news operations would rather hire kids who don't read or care about what's going on in their communities and pay them crap then hire an experienced journalist who knows the difference between the prime rate and a mortgage rate. But that's a whole different rant.
I'm listening to Bob Dylan right now asking me "How does it feel?" It feels real lost.