Dearest Mary Angel,

Deepest apology's for not writing you sooner. My last letter was the night of my birthday, and I had allowed myself to drink far too much. I hadn't been drunk since the year before when a friend of mine passed on. I rarely drink as it is, which is a good thing, but I was foolish, allowing grief enough room to throw caution to the wind. But that's neither here nor there.

I had been so miserable the year or two leading up to my firing, and it took losing my job to see it clearly. Eight days after my birthday Colin fired me-- Princess Diana was dead and I was out of a job; albeit, one I hated. Still, it was completely without warning, and I was simply too stunned to ask why. All he told me was my performance was "...too little too late," and that the matter was out of his hands. He went on to say that if I wanted, I could continue working at the restaurant as a cook until I found work elsewhere. I told him I would think on it and give him a call. I then surrendered my keys and left.

I had another set of keys at the house, and for a month and a half I contemplated entering the restaurant some night when everyone was gone, disabling the alarm system, and wreaking havoc on their food inventory, and stealing money from the office, but thankfully, I had better sense. Instead, I applied for unemployment and made a half-hearted attempt at finding work... meaning, I didn't look very hard.

I had decided months before that I would never work in another restaurant again unless I had some control over menu, and autonomy enough to treat my employees with more respect than I was then allowed. I'd also caught on to an unconscious trend-- every new job I go to always seems to be completely unrelated to the previous job. So, when I looked, I consciously looked outside the food-service industry.

In early November, I went to both television stations in town and applied for whatever might be available. Ch 18 never called for an interview, but Ch 4 interviewed me on the spot, and I was hired the next day! I am now what is called a "Master Control Operator," which means little in regards to pay-scale, but the job is so incredibly simple, circus bears could do it-- I literally get paid to watch television and occassionally push a few buttons.

Then the most amazing thing happened! 1 day after I was hired, Spinnaker's Restaurant-- the establishment to which I had devoted 10 years of my life --without warning, closed 3 hours early on a Saturday evening and informed the staff that it was closing it's doors in town forever. I received a call that very evening from a kitchen worker with whom I had been sociable. I was somewhat shocked that he openly cried over the phone as he told me everything.

The home office, I later learned, closed six other units that same week and had recently closed two prior to "our" closing. Initially, I was so elated to know that the company, which had seen better days and was in decline due to debt, had been forced to fire almost 500 employees and over thirty managers to stay afloat. I laughed until I realized what they had done by letting all those people go just four weeks before Christmas. Each employee, like myself, had given a significant amount of their daily lives to a company that couldn't have cared less.

So here I am. It's 1998. And I am somewhat happier, though the loneliness I feel grows stronger each day. I want a family. It's time I start thinking about a family. But I'll probably have to hurt someone I care a great deal for to actually get on with my life. It would be nice to find someone with whom I could actually open up to; someone whose personality would allow me to be myself without fear, and perhaps someone who would love me with equal measure in return.

But that's all I can say about that for now. Ophelia will be home soon, so I must finish this.

With great love and longing I am ever yours,


Eric

January 0898