The one where I try not to panic

The engineering company where I used to work did some major downsizing yesterday, and 30 people were let go—including my husband, Tim.

Today he will begin treating looking for a job like a job. He has a plan of attack, and I’m trying very hard not to panic.

What does this mean? I don’t know, really, I’m too busy trying not to freak out to think calmly. He’s taking it infinitely better than I am (or at least he is now, but he may start to flip out later today when he starts to job hunt). I will definitely keep you all posted, but meanwhile… if you hear of anyone who needs a SQL Server Database Administrator, or a Visual Basic Programmer, or a really nice guy who can cut down trees and hang drywall with equal ability… Tim’s suddenly available!

Blargh. Even though I said without hesitation to him that if we need to move, I will move… I’m in a spin. Headspin? Tailspin? Freakout spin? I’ve lived here most of my life; not because I am stuck here but because I love it here. I love Gainesville. I’m not attached to this house; we could sell it and move and I wouldn’t feel a deep loss. I am, however, a little attached to my job. I’m far more concerned about the shop than any other aspect of us moving out of Gainesville. Friends, family; people whom I love and love me will never disappear from my life (heck, I started blogging to keep in touch with folks who live far away). But I own a small business with two other people… What happens to the yarn store if I have to cut out and move to a far away city? Anything within about an hours drive I would consider still commutable… but if Tim gets a great job offer from Atlanta…? OK: I need to not think about this. Everyone think positively – that Tim will find a job within the very narrow window of time that we have before we are suddenly homeless with a bunch of pets, books, and yarn… and that Tim will find a job within the Gainesville/Ocala/Jacksonville range.

Perhaps today’s poll will be something about the best ways to deal with total blind panic. Flailing one’s arms around in the air, and all.