It’s now public, so I can write about it (Tuesday morning). On Friday, I was told my site was being shut down next year. No debate, or argument, just a “let’s go for coffee, there’s a press release coming out” from my new manager.
I was so stunned when he told me it was happening, I forgot to ask why. Still don’t really know, but like the end of a relationship, I guess it doesn’t really matter. The important thing is it’s over. And your life falls apart.
Actually, good analogy; You kind of hope it’s not really over, you don’t understand, and you hate yourself. When I have managed to sleep, I’ve woken up full of fear, shock and shame.
I’m upset, I’m stunned, and glad I’ve got lots of supportive friends, who say all the right things,along the lines of “oh, you were so good for each other”, and “did you see it coming?”.
Of course, when real relationships end, there’s normally some indication. I’ve had my suspicions, but only in the way that every time your lover leaves your bed, you’re afraid you’ll never see them again. And of course, I’m not used to seeing my shattering failures printed in the Guardian.
My friends are slipping me some fantastic sleeping pills. I’m still waiting for them to work. I’ve got bored of listening to Radio Four turn into the World Service and then back again. I’m tired of vodka breakfasts beginning with that strange military music medley they play just before Farming Today and ending with Woman’s Hour. I hate feeling this horrid. I feel so desperately alone and miserable. I wish I could cry, but sadly, these days, I only do that when watching Aaron Sorkin shows.
Others are better at it. My old boss rang me up from a wedding on Saturday night. He’d only just heard, and was so upset it sounded like he was in tears. Which was really sweet of him.
My team are all being fantastic. They know I’m a selfish old sock, and are letting me get on with my own Greek Tragedy grieving rather than looking to me for consolation and reassurance. I’m a broken man, so what can I say without sounding hollow? They’re all lovely, surprisingly strong people, and seem to be coping much better than me. If I was a better, stronger person, I’d be busy “being there for them” – but no. I’m at home, on holiday, and where there’s self-pity on tap.
PS: Hell of a day to try and give up smoking.
(By the way, BBC-types, please note: I’m talking about my reactions to the news, rather than discussing how it all came about. I really don’t know, I can’t speculate, and I’m sure these things, regrettable as they are, happen for sound and careful reasons. The last thing I want is to be hauled into a room and bollocked when I’m feeling this horrid. I’ve still got a job, and other great things to work on – just let me mourn this one.)