I look through my bosses calendar. Amongst all the junk and banal static ('funeral') I look for meeting with our director. I find one for 9 o clock on Monday morning. She's not normally in that early on Monday. . Monday is the best time to sack people, I seem to recal. I google it and find advice that the worst time is Friday. Apparently sacking people on a Friday ruins their weekend. If I lose this job it will be the end of more than my week. It will be the end of my future and stability. I know I am supposed to rationalise away worse case scenarios to over come panic attacks. I am supposed to visualise poverty, homelessness, despair and then to each one, I am supposed to say 'who cares'. It is supposed to make it go away, but nothing happens. The scenario just smirks aack at me. Again, on the toilet, I imagine the dole office, the awful job search engines and the lies you get when you type in my job title and vacancy. You would think there are a hundred thousand vacancies in my field. But my field is not a field, its more a cramped back yard. Back from the toilet I job search again: nothing. I check the calendar again, nothing, I look at the face of another director as he walks past. Nothign. He's smiling. I might be OK till Monday then. I think about what I want to think about over the weekend; nothing, not even nothing. I touch my desk. It is cheap wood made up to look expensive, but it fools no one. What are the chances I'll still be sitting here in a year and all this uncertainty will be over? Nothing.