Tomorrow the object of my daily attention (a.k.a. "my day job") will tell me that I am to be laid off. I have reread the ULA output for several days now, peeking into the possible future that becomes certain when the future-turns-now. The two people in the office with me may even be surprised at my nonchalance about their news. I processed their news long ago.
This is one of the benefits and the turmoils of the ULA output. Automatic humanity, our emotions and visible outward signs occur at that moment. We cannot get them back.
I know also the outcomes such a decision provides in the months to come, and I do what I can to mitigate them for the people left behind to wonder how such an arrangement can even be considered a benefit. In the last month, one of those in that office began to hear a well worn phrase of mine as I prepared them for the news they did not yet know: "My happiness is a golden poem."
She does not know that every time I said it, it always meant her.