I finally quit my job today. I quit the job that kicked my ass six ways to Sunday for the past two years - the one that scared me silly, rubbed against the grain, left me depleted, worked me harder than I've ever worked. I made it out alive. No - more than that. I fucking killed it. I turned that shit around and quit on a high note. I'm proud of that.
This is what I made before I quit - a reminder of what I had to do so that I'd do it:
But it was all wrong.
I took one look at my boss's face - crumpled, shellshocked, hurt, baffled - and I didn't feel rebellious or triumphant or jubilant. I didn't streak down the hall skipping. I felt like absolute shit.
It's a terrible thing to let someone down, especially when that someone hand reared you like a newly hatched chick when you were lost and confused, and believed in you when you were down and out.
It downright broke my heart. I went back to my bile green pod and cried my eyes out, pulled myself together, and hit the Peppermint Patties. Even under the influence of the Patty, I had to remind myself: This is not what you want. This doesn't make you happy. You can't spend your life making other people's dreams come true when your own are languishing.
So I went through with it and got what I asked for - a blessing. In about six weeks, I start something new, something I hope will hit more of the right chords. And I'm so unbelievably scared.
But better to be scared and moving than scared and standing still.
Love you all very much. I mean it. Thank you.
