Tuesday, July 8

Nutrition: Fine, but who the fuck cares?

Sleep: 7.5 hours in bed, 915p-445a, 80% quality. Totally sound until Hank barked the house awake at 445a. Jerkface.

Healthy Movement: Tight lower legs getting out of bed, loosened up nicely. No workout today, too busy stressing.

Fun & Play: The day started off well enough. At 915a, everything went bad, and there was no more fun to be had. Three bright spots: I have a job, team lunch, fetch with the pooches.

Stress Management: Terrified, relieved, heart-broken, guilt-wracked.

From 915a onward: either I am losing my job, or my people are and thus my job is about to get a million times more stressful. I don't know.

At 945a, I was 100% certain I was on the cut list, as I was invited to a meeting that made me think exactly that. I walked away from my desk KNOWING I would not be remaining.

Instead, I still have a job, but three of my four direct reports do not. A total of 5 off my team of 18. A lot of knowledge walked out the door, leaving the rest of us to scramble.

But more than that, 66 of our friends & family have been booted out the door, none of it deserved personally, but necessary for the business. I get it, but my heart is not a P&L, it does not do logic. I look at the list and want to cry. I think of the list and want to cry. I talk to the CFO and want to cry. I'm crying right now.

Fuck.

No comments:

Post a Comment