Good Lord, she’d overslept. She leapt from the bed and raced to the bathroom to shower before she remembered she was now unemployed. Slipping back in bed, she tried to close her eyes, but found herself staring at the ceiling, her thoughts racing. Not having to bolt into the day was disorienting, and more than a little bit scary. She breathed slowly and deeply—Indigo’s breath of abundance—and, after a moment, dozed off. Later, she read emails and texts that had flooded in from co-workers, their messages sent from personal email addresses and phones. Linny Lou—this sucks. Don’t know what went down, but uppr mgt. is only group doesn’t know A is a b***. Miss u. Jarod. Aaron wrote, Be cool, L. I’ll meet you for drink if I ever get out of Jersey. She smiled, warmed by their support. Sipping coffee, she composed a cheerful, carefully worded email to colleagues from other companies whom she’d met through professional associations. She tapped a finger in her mouth, revised, and revised again.
What do You think about Linny's Sweet Dream List (2015)?
