Last night, I had one of those late-in-your-career dreams that people like me, late-in-their-careers have every once in a while.
I was being fired.
My boss was gentle about it, and complimentary of my time and achievements.
But, there I was, loading up a corrugated box of the few personal things that accumulate in what passes for an office these days.
I'm not sure why I had that dream last night. Maybe it's the effect of having just come back from vacation and worrying that maybe they found out during the week I was gone that they didn't need my sarcasm, my old-guy-isms, and my 1990s salary on the payroll.
Maybe, I'm just feeling my age--a week away will do that to you. I tossed Whiskey's ducks and hundreds of rocks a day to mark her duck's place in the sea so she could fetch it, and my shoulder feels more painful than usual.
Maybe it's just my generalized anxiety disorder--a brain that needs something to worry about, just to stay awake--even while it's asleep.
I suppose the time will come, sooner or later. I can't really quite imagine walking out under my own steam, though it is something I think about. With the market doing well and my savings appreciating nicely, I do think about that small cabin somewhere, just a stone's throw from a pond where I could throw stones for Whiskey.
It's just after eight now, as I write this. And I have a million and nine things to do in the next hour before people arrive. I'll freely admit, the world of advertising today often seems topsy-turvy. I have a hard time even understanding half of the things we're asked to create.
It's easy for me to write a commercial, or a print ad, or even a website or a banner, and say 'yeah, I'd watch or read that. That's interesting.' It's harder for me to fathom myself engaging to such a point with a brand that I'll do much more than listen or read. Frankly, when I bought my car, I didn't even test drive it.
I guess all that makes me old.
Old and dispensable.
Ergo, my dream.