Three months out of work. Occasional nibbles from agencies but no follow-up. (And all because for the last dozen years I used WordPerfect rather than bloody Redmondware. To think that, last time around, the temp agencies were fighting over me because they knew I can tackle an app I’ve never seen before and, by the end of the day, know it better than most users ever will.)
Invisible walls closing in. Sleep erratic. Familiar symptoms of serotonin deficiency hard to distinguish from familiar symptoms of objective disappointment. Thoughts dwell on friends who died of it: Dan Alderson (1941-89), who allowed diabetes to do him in slowly; and Sasha Chislenko (1959-2000), who took a speedier way. Remind self that at least two people would miss me.
Will try not to bore you further. About that, at least.