Dead Man Walking

I've got lame duck disease. I wander the halls of Jewish Family Service trying not to spread the virus of being laid off. I smile and nod and slink away from light or human contact, but my shadow wildly pantomimes the details of my assassination like Hamlet's ghost.

Maybe I'm just uncomfortable with expressions of sympathy. Maybe I'm afraid of giving these concerned folk a glimpse of what BummerMan thinks about this whole thing. All I want is to stay positive and be responsible and graceful in my exit. When someone stops me in the corridor and says, "Hey, how are you doing?" I want to run in the other direction for fear that I might ruin their day. Or perhaps because I have an even deeper fear that they really couldn't care less. Either way, every agency has it's share of malaise and I don't want my name associated with any of it.

Meanwhile, Madison Market is selling a new issue of Heeb (The New Jew Review) which I've been reading faithfully for the last few years in an attempt to identify with a hip young Jewish intellectual movement. I have no intention of purchasing another issue.