What does that mean?

I've had a couple of glasses of beer - home brew, a little cloudy, but quite drinkable - and I'm sitting here stumbling along with the writing looking forward to a good weekend with nothing planned, nothing on the table, head hopefully clear, eyes bright, gait straight, camera ready and not too crazy come Monday morning. The basics, in other words.

Saturday. Breakfast at the usual place, a nap when I returned, a walk down the way to check out the farmer's market, some thought I'd like to go back and take a nap, take another nap, listen to the radio now that their fund raising session is finished, thinking about driving to Sacramento to see MSM, thinking I really do have to finish two photo projects that are overdue by too many days, wondering if life wouldn't be infinitely better if I stopped going to work.

The rumors generated by the meeting a week ago between our company CEO and the senior IT managers have gelled into this: IT will be cut by 30 to 40% and the people who are let go will get a fairly substantial “package”. From my standpoint that's good in all ways except one. If I let it delay my leaving in anticipation of getting a package.

When it's time to leave, you leave. Delaying is debilitating and there are no guarantees you'll get a package or a bonus until it's in your bank account. You can grow old and feeble waiting. Better to grow old and feeble with your feet up feeling the breeze as you watch your sun set one hopes slowly in the distance, the colors fogged a bit by the sake you're drinking rather than by the job and the jarring experience of arriving at the office every morning.

And how do you pay the rent with your feet up on your desk?

Monthly, by check, drawn on an unlimited bank account filled with wishful thinking.