The Roaring Twenties

I feel confident in my assumption that my 30s will be a lamb-like ten years of easy-to-deal-with stuff because my 20s are definitely going out like a fierce, roaring lion of doom. Yes, like The Jazz Singer of the apocalypse, with each second that ticks me closer to my 30th birthday, scores of flapper girls and Al Capone look-alikes are doing the Charleston on my psyche.

To start, last week I was laid off from work with no forewarning. The HR person didn’t know nor did anyone else save the Executive Director, who handled the matter personally. After working on a holiday, I came in the next morning only to turn around and head home for good before 10 a.m. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. Like a (more) horrible (than usual) Lifetime movie, I suddenly found myself unemployed in a recession-ish economy with a young daughter and wife with-child at home, just as the unforgiving Maine winter begins to grow in strength. All I needed was a cameo by Judith Light or Valerie Bertinelli to prove my allegory apt.

Then, Megan checked into the hospital Thursday night with acute abdominal distress, which is the last thing you want for a pregnant woman who is only halfway to her due date. The diagnosis: appendicitis. Surgery: immediate. My drawers: in a tight bunch.

But, as is always the case, it is most important to stay positive when life seems jolly rotten. Hence my lack of posts until now; I needed some distance to get my head straight and realize that everything will be fine. And lo, it is. Megan’s surgery came off swimmingly and our unborn child is fine and still doing the backstroke in her belly (the doctor kind of dumbed things down for me a bit) and I already have secured a six-week work contract that will most likely turn into fulltime employment. Huzzah!

In lieu of a snappy closing rejoinder, just go watch the ending song to Life of Brian on YouTube.