|
Yesterday was my last day at work. The feeling was similar to a last day of school before summer, except not quite as good. Meanwhile, I'm taking a little two-day vacation up to Boston this weekend before I really must get my moving plans into motion next week. Next Friday, a bunch of people from work are throwing me a little goodbye bash at a coworker's house. When I asked my boss if he thought he could make it, he shook my hand and said, "Well, I have it written down. Good luck." And then he walked away. And the pile grows:   The freaky sensation felt when looking closely at a dead body -- one that you once knew in its living state -- is that of expecting (and even waiting for) the body to suddenly move again. Nightmares are made of this sensation. Got home from work around 1 a.m. tonight. Message on machine is from lady who says she would like to speak to me about a job I applied for. More than a month ago. Unfortunately for her, I'm already out of here. Unfortunately for me, the pay for this job would have been pretty damn good, and had the position been offered sometime around when I actually applied, I would have accepted it over moving to Savannah. Funny how these things work, eh? --- My list of possible apartment complexes to visit the day I get there is currently at three. When all is said and done, I will probably attempt to visit at least 10 in one day. Boxes. Boxes. Boxes. I'm swimming in boxes ... wheeeee. I tend to share similar interests with our feline friends. ----------- Packing Report: CD cases Today I told co-workers about my quitting. Most were nicer about it than I had predicted, telling me they were excited for me... that it was a good opportunity ... that they had heard so many good things about Savannah. Others, of course, expect me to justify why in the hell I want to do what I'm doing. "I hope you like swamps." "I could never move anywhere in the South." "Do you know the size of mosquitoes down there?" And these are the people I will not miss one bit when I am gone. ----------------- Packing Report: Books, notes/papers from college, K-12 report cards-projects, files from my desk. I guess I won't be needing these anymore. (I never gave out one.)  Yes, dumping them all over the floor was necessary for the purposes of this photograph.  And so the adventure begins. A brief recap of the past day and a half: Around midnight Thursday night, things are a bit hazy with intoxication when I hear the welcoming DING from my computer, warning me of a new email message. Three emails, in fact. Each letting me know that an editing job in Savannah, Georgia, is mine if I wanted it. I wanted it. Through some quick, surprisingly lucid thinking (and some proofreading by my girlfriend) I send a reply asking just one last question I would need answered before officially accepting. The night goes on. Amie leaves. I am tired, but I don't sleep. Friday morning. I had fallen asleep much later than planned. I had woken up much earlier than planned. Things are ... still hazy. I check my email. A one word reply is the only answer I need to my question. I write my resignation letter, and can feel my stomach turning as I am nervous about confronting my boss. Letter finished, I call up said friend, Jacob, and tell him 'I am in.' I force down a bowl of cereal. 'Smart Start.' It's healthy. Tastes good too. A little while later, I am at work with the resignation letter ready to go, but the boss is busy all day. Hours pass, my chest is pounding so fast I can't help but laugh at it. I walk into my boss's office. -"I have my time sheet and mileage ... and also, a somewhat more important matter ... I'm going to be moving to Savannah--" -(Does not look up from papers in front of him) What did you say, where are you moving? -Savannah, Georgia ... And on goes a brief conversation about my plans, all the while my boss remains cold, uncaring. Do I care about that? Yes. Am I one of the hardest working people in that building? Yes. Does he realize this? No. Oh well. A few hours pass, I don't tell coworkers I quit. The building is already surprisingly quiet for a Friday. Many have taken off. The day ends, I go to Amie's, eat two slices of pizza while following a 50+ instructions list in an attempt to fix her family's computer. Every thing is calm. No excitement about anything. Hours later, I watch the Phillies game, make plans to go out afterwards, break plans as I am tired and not feeling well. Amie and I watch 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. I take her home at 2ish a.m. Saturday morning. Excitement sets in. Starved. I ravage leftover grilled chicken from two nights before and begin collecting empty boxes. July 12, I begin my next job. I am moving to Savannah. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this. 3:07 PM When Virginia Wolf went into the journalism field, she said that it was detrimental to her creative output, and I'm starting to think the same thing is happening to me. Then again, Virginia Wolf also had a habit of walking into the ocean with rocks tied to her feet. But I do believe there is merit to what she said. Sure, every week I have to pound out 'creative' headlines and design a newspaper from scratch. And, in a way, every thing I write on here is also just a form of non-fiction, so this blog too would fall under the journalism category. But, there are still differences. In the writing I do for work ... it's all cut and dry. This person did this. This is what they had to say. There's no opinion or color at all really, at least not in the stories that I have to write ... i.e. The budget increase at Hatboro-Horsham School District. And then I come here and sit in front of this screen and I have nothing interesting to say ... and certainly nothing interesting to say about work ... other than that I want it to go away. My life would be much better if I had a flat-panel monitor, a clean keyboard, and a new truck. A few day's ago I was tempted to say that my chances of moving to Savannah to work on a start-up crime publication with a friend from Bard were 95 percent. But, since I have heard nothing from said friend, I will lower that prediction to 73 percent. I hesitated mentioning this possibility of moving at all so that it wouldn't seem like a big deal if indeed the 95 percent turned out to be 0. But, now that time has passed and the chances aren't so good, I can now safely explain all of this crap to you since the idea of having a fun opportunity whoosh by is a semi-entertaining subject to write about. Wheeeeeee. I'm a bird. A parrot, to be exact. But not a talking parrot. I now redirect you to a much better post than the one you are reading right now. Hang in there. Seriously. |
Late night snacks. Bite-sized ramblings. Old-fashioned eats, served fresh daily. Open 24-7.  Other blogs Fireballs and Tsunami JeffreyDavis.net Mismatched Parentheses NimbleSixpence One Tortured Soul Palpably Inadequate Picnic, Lightning Pony Legs, Temporarily Supernouveau Wander Lust In my DVD player Archives June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 Other stuff Homestarrunner One Slime DeepDiscountDVD Olde English Sketch Comedy Live Music Archive Copy Army Copywriting Service Love & Radio This One Time Email me mmjunior / at / hotmail   
|