The Factory

It appears as if my corporate Mondays may be coming to an end sooner than I thought. I should be doing cartwheels, but there is this voice in my head. Some might call it the voice of reason, others would call it the voice of doubt.

I have been given a hall pass out of the monotony.
I am technically off the proverbial hamster wheel.
I have been paroled from the prison of corporate life for good behavior.
I have been retired from "The Factory."

"The Factory" is a metaphor that my husband uses because he often quips that, "He married a girl from a small town who works at the local factory." The Factory is the entertainment business. The small town is Hollywood.

But here's the rub. No one has officially said, "Here is your gold watch. Now go home." Instead, we are doing some kind of perverse dance. A terrible tango, in which I don't know the dance steps. My company is not quite done with me yet. They are warming up to the idea of letting me call myself a producer. I wait for the warden, the guards and my parole board to make a verdict.

I went to lunch with the creative head of the in-house studio (if I were to become a producer, I would technically be working for them) at a Mexican restaurant, where we drank margaritas and ate tacos on the patio. Things were looking up. We talked about the whole enchilada (bad pun intended) and what my next step would be. She is eager to have me attached to projects that need help and will be mindful of trying to find the right match to my sensibilities. We talked about skill sets, passion and value added.

I left the lunch meeting feeling appropriately full, slightly mellower from the tequila and with a big smile on my face at the prospect of a real opportunity.

We had another three-day weekend. Valentine's Day/Presidents' Day Weekend. I actually took Saturday and Sunday off. Now I need to work on today (even though it's a holiday and the office is closed). I can feel myself running out of steam. I am still in limbo. Remember how much I hate limbo?

I feel malaise creeping in. What if they let me go, convert my deal, allow me to produce, eliminate the corporate crap (meetings, meetings about meetings, meetings about more meetings) and I really don't have to punch a clock? I would really get to do what I want to do: write, produce, think, create, collaborate and curate. Will I stay motivated? Will I be productive? Will I be successful?

Uh oh. Here is the "careful what you wish" for prophecy.