Chicken Little

About once a day, I decide that every single one of us is going to lose his or her job, and then I have to put my head between my knees and hyperventilate until I'm OK again. It takes about an hour, and I've been trying to schedule it for lunch, so that I don't lose productivity (unadvisable, when you're already freaking out about the economy.)

Part of the problem is that I never really recovered from being laid off in 2000. I worked at a startup that stopped after a glorious six month run. We had free breakfast every day, massage therapists once a week, drinks after work most nights ... and no business plan. Truly, it was bread and circus time in Dotcommia.

What's going on right now is a little different, although I don't love the idea of a panic caused by unregulated banking. It seems, you know, familiar somehow. Like when my grandfather used to tell me stories about living for a month on eggplants that his neighbor grew in the window box. You know, like that.

The other day I IMed Moss to ask him if everyone we know was going to get laid off, and he said no, we were not going to get laid off, and in fact we were all going to get laid. Moss is an optimist and a hedonist. Possibly the best combination of traits ever.

In completely unrelated news, tonight is stay in and be lazy night here in the Hubley household, and I'm watching possibly the crappiest ghost hunting reality TV show ever. It's called Ghost Adventures, I believe, and this one guy is no word of a lie begging ghosts to punch him in the head as he meanders around this old insane asylum. If I were the camera man, I would take advantage of being the only person with night vision and whack this nerdlinger with a walkie-talkie. However, I've been under a lot of stress, so please keep that in mind.