I went for a big long bike ride yesterday, and ran across one of these signs (photo stolen from the interwebs, but it looked exactly like this):

I don’t know if it’s just me, but I was just amused by what I saw in the design: A big roaring monster wave chasing a bunch of of little, scared, screaming waves.

Well, at least the uncertainty is pretty much gone: If the strike’s not settled by the end of next week, then next Friday’s my last day.

At least I got the courtesy of a warning so I can get my shit together both physically and financially, unlike the last time I got canned.

It sucks, but I’m getting paid for two more weeks than the entire crew and most of the production office, so I’m still in a better position than most.

And now, to try and trim the nonexistent fat out of my budget…

Since I have had several queries: Unlike much of the rest of Southern California, I am not on fire. The closest of the fires to me is the one in Malibu, which is several miles up the coast.

I’m slightly more concerned about next weekend, since I’m supposed to go to San Diego to visit my mom, who’s going to be there for a conference.

At the rate that town is burning, I’m just hoping Interstate 15 doesn’t melt.

I had a fairly disastrous day at work today, particularly since my foot decided it wanted to suddenly slam back into Excruciating Pain Mode shortly after lunch.

It seems to be doing better now after a whole lot of ice, but on top of the tinsel-covered holiday hell I’m already deeply embroiled in, it was not fun. After a day like today, all I wanted to do was come home and wallow in self-pity.

But then, I read stories like 250,000 households evacuated in San Diego because of fire, and I remember: Things could be a lot worse.