Bittersweet

I wake up and remain motionless for a few seconds. Gradually, ever so gradually, I slide until my head hangs over the side of the bed. I look up at the floor and sigh deeply. Once my feet touch the carpet, the day will begin and many hours will pass before I'm beneath these sheets again.

Off in the distance, the alarm clock shrieks, nearly drowning out the sound of the television. I shut my eyes, slowly count to ten, silently swear and then let out a long battle cry. In one swift motion, the covers fly back and I roll full-tilt, tumbling to the floor. The day has begun.

It has been growing more difficult getting up and coming to work feeling motivated. Two weeks ago, I felt like a castaway on Survivor. I learned the company was letting people go or transferring them elsewhere, people close to my age, to whom I had grown close. Part of my alliance was being voted off the island.

It has taken time for the news to sink in and the full impact felt. Tomorrow, the office is throwing a going away party for them. It will be bittersweet. They are good people and while their departure saddens me, they've been given a chance to pursue something better and more satisfying and that heartens me.