I was looking for a job, and then I found a job.
And heaven knows I’m miserable now.
I found work. Sort of. It’s a three month contract with a major investment bank in Manhattan. This is an unlikely and improbable turn of events. The investment banking industry is on a respirator. You can count the number of healthy firms on one hand. That I found work at one of the survivors is a miracle. At the end of three months, they can elect to extend my contract or make an offer for a staff position. I got lucky.
But I’m not here to thank the fates. Regular readers will know that that’s not me. If you’re not in the mood to hear it, you’d better click on out right now.
I signed on for a project that will require 10-12 hour days for the next two or three months, I will be making less than I was at Morgan Stanley and because the office is nowhere near Penn Station, my commute will probably top off at 2:15. One way. Do you know what that means?
I will not see The Daughters.
They’ll be asleep when I wake up and asleep when I get home. I’ve gotten quite use to having them in my life and now they’ll stand on the periphery. I know the world is full of weekend dads but I never wanted to be one of them. I’ll miss them terribly but I’ve got a job to do.
Back to the salt mine. Blogging will be light.