Cut through the fancy semantics, and I was fired, I lost my long-running, paid gig as reportedly only a handful of writers for this new program on this new edition of a blah-blah-blah…
Yes, I’m shocked. But completely? Not really.
I live my life with a remote control and the disheartening, alarming ability to rewind, pause, and go, “WTF? I just saw that happen. So, it’s true!”
Two-three days ago, I had a really weird dream, weird for me, because Noah Cappe figured prominently in it. Cappe is the host of the Cooking Channel’s “Carnival Eats.” I hear he’s also the host of the Canadian version of “The Bachelor.” On Twitter, he’s a really nice guy, very approachable, and knows how to use social media with his own flair for personality. He also has a really hot girlfriend/significant other.
Well, in my dream, he popped up in the lobby of a slew of offices, my writer’s workplace, turned to me with a shit-eating grin on his face, and announced quite happily that he was there to interview for and take my job.
He was so charming and I was so agreeable to this notion that naturally, we fell in love. By the end of the dream, when we were forced to share quarters with a group of other people, I didn’t want him to leave. He left, as they all do, because it was better that I share my room with a family who needed the extra beds more.
In any event, there’s a point to this dream other than warning me that I was gonna be out of a job soon. The warning signs were already there in real life; certain things happened in succession that didn’t make me feel very secure anyway. It’s not like I’m psychic or anything…
Anyway, I have no idea what I’m going to do next.
I have a feeling that the universe has been trying to tell me to use my time more wisely and to focus on what really matters before it’s too late.
And that’s not punching in a time clock, or mooning over Cappe’s lip-smacking way with words.