Day three- Telling the Bean

Normally hump day is a cause for mild celebration to the cube jockey. The week is half over and the weekend is smiling in your face. After seeing Moda off to work like a good SO, I see the Bean is up and frassin. He asks if I'm still sick and I make maudlin gesture number 10. In my robe, I lean over the sink and plant my hands while taking a deep breath than looking up. He responds accordingly and very Bean-like: "Uh-Oh...I don't like the sound of that"

"I was let go on Monday"

Rather than turn into a worried Wonka, he mobilizes as well. He throws various ideas out there and we bounce them off one and other. He leaves, with the promise that he'll keep his eyes and ears open. I send off another resume, call back the temp firm, and head out for a jog on this glorious day. By mile 3, I'm throwing up. I have to walk the last 6 blocks and chalk it up to nerves. At home, I agree to meet and help run lines with a buddy who took the day off to work on their script. While brushing my teeth, I start dry-heaving. I start getting worried that I'm gonna get sick right after I lose my insurance.

I come downstairs to a couple of Fed Exed boxes on my porch. All my work gear. And a flush of anger rises in me again. And I start to get another lump in my throat. A cursory poke through them reveals they sent me back all my office supplies on my desk top. (Which negates my whole fantasy of winning the lottery and keeping them all anyway) My five year glass commemorative candy dish is in pieces at the bottom as well as a Spider-Man card/picture holder. I make a note to inventorize tomorrow, then notice that my hardboiled eggs that I usually bring for a snack are in there. Again, effectively rendering my hope they'd forget them and they'd go bad useless.

I check my business again and head over to be a line runner. I cathart to 'Lis, run lines, then we drink some beers. We're joined later by Moda and Tuggernuts before breaking for the night. I hunker down for "Two Towers" and fall asleep. I wake up when Moda breaks from rehearsal. We frass a bit, then call it a night.