It only took one week for the decision to be cemented.
"I don't see this working out," I said to my Parisian-turned-Austinite boss this morning as I closed her office door behind me.
I couldn't help smiling when I said it, although the gum graft surgery I had 5 days ago made my smile into something of a half-deadened smirk. I had warned important people in my life this was coming, and for the second time this year, quitting a seemingly good job?? Why was this happening again?
Time to stop pretending, I say. Cubicle life is not for me.
My friend said, "At least wait until the fall when your next surgery is scheduled so that you have insurance." And I knew I couldn't wait.
My boyfriend said, "I am so proud of you!" And I knew I couldn't wait.
And over the weekend as I sat on her couch in a post-surgery hydrocodone haze, my sister said, "Good for you, you should move to a fabulous island and ditch real life!" And I knew I couldn't wait!
I only had this job for two months. It was the result of, well, necessity (aren't "jobs" always?). Of paying bills and credit card debt, and I was SO hopeful those first few weeks! A brand new industry for me, perks of international travel, a boss living in Paris, an office on the greenbelt by Zilker Park (lunchtime hikes?), getting daily wear from my extensive shoe collection, and a consistent paycheck to keep my eye twitch away. By last week the eye twitch was back, my Parisian boss had moved to Austin, and the greenbelt, although right out the windows, was nowhere within sight of my cubicle's view.
Yes, like many who did their 15 years post-college sentence as a hard-working professional, I am now cubically challenged. The fluorescent lights, 1990's PCs, beige color schemes, and 9-5 schedules are allergens. And as I sit here writing on my lovely little white MacBook, in my incredibly bright 4-windowed white office, surrounded by travel photos and trinkets and fuschia-colored floor pillows, I am not afraid of what's next.
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