Quitting Time

I have an addictive personality.  I can pick up a new habit faster than a homeless man can pick up a fiver, and I usually have three or four things in my life at any given time that need to be stopped...or at least more moderated.

That, however, is the subject of a whole different blog post (or maybe a series of blog posts).

This post is dedicated to quitting something much more harmful and potentially destructive than anything in my life:  my stupid motherfucking job.  And I just gotta say, it feels so good to be free.  Its like I found something like chocolate, Jesus, and Meth all rolled into one, except way better.

My previous post is probably a good indicator of my feelings about my job, except it doesn't include the ridiculousness of corporate "thinking", office politics, or the frustration of watching your workload increase ten fold due to cutbacks and layoffs without raises or benefits (another series right there).

So anyway, I gave two weeks notice, and my last day in coming up shortly.  I have two paychecks coming before my source of income dries up, rent is coming due, and I still have to partially feed this body.  My car is elderly and could become costly at any moment.  My Better Half (Biff from now on) is also having difficulties extracting employment benefits from our woefully unprepared-from-the-economic-downfall government, so the moolah is currently not flowing through our house, yet I feel so...happy.

Happy that I am no longer putting 110% of my effort into a company that treats me like I have no value.  Happy that my boss will no longer claim my work-soul and take advantage of me like no other employee because I'm the only one who lets her.  Happy because this is the first giant leap into the new direction that Biff & I are headed in.

Guess one can only bitch about their circumstances for so long before becoming powerfully motivated to change it.