Monday, July 28, 2008

Shorttimer.

Being at a job that you've decided (and given notice that you're going) to leave is a particular kind of frustrating. There is a broken record playing in the back of your head, mimicking tired children in the back of a stickyhot station wagon: "are we done yet? are we done yet? are we done yet? are we done yet? are we done yet?" that is simply impossible to turn off. Perhaps the knob is busted. The baseline harmony joins in with the ever popular "why am I here? why am I here? why am I here?", that refrain that has been playing at some volume in the background ever since you started at this place of employment. The record, I think, is a bad Four Tops ripoff stuck on chorus.

Perhaps this is all just a fancy way of saying that I'd like to *not* be here right now. I'm tired. I'm grumpy. And damnit, didn't I already quit this effing job? Why yes, I believe I did. Not that I have another one. I have an appointment with a headhunter, which for some reason I'm considering the same thing as having a job offer in waiting. Probably that's very foolish of me. But the thing is, if I hadn't given notice here I wouldn't be able to give any prospective new employer a firm available start date, and that just doesn't work for me.

Tonight I'll print out copies of my resume, decide what to wear, figure out how to eat around tomorrow's hectic "schedule". Today, until I'm done here I'll plod through, counting minutes until 5pm. Humming the worst doo-wop tune ever imagined.

I don't know if they've scheduled any interviews yet, for replacing me. I care for entirely selfish reasons. For example, if they find someone this week, maybe she'll be able to start next Monday instead of the one after - an institutional pardon, as it were. I'd be out three hundred bucks, of course. But somehow even that seems OK. It probably shouldn't.

In large part, I don't want to be here today because I'm exhausted. I don't get a whole lot of down time these days. For example last week: worked Monday to Friday in this here dingy office, then Friday night drank too many mojitos with the K to the M c. Saturday got up at 9am to write, then hit the town for a few hours before working at the coffee shop from 7pm till 1:30 in the morning. Sunday, once I could finally get myself going (by the time I finally got home at 2:30am, had a raging migraine- didn't lead to the best morning) we headed out for the C train - blog forthcoming. Between the late start, the dawdling pace, the copious station visiting, and the dinner afterward, we weren't home till 11pm. Almost 10 hours all told. No, not so much with the sitting around. But then, I never have been.

So tomorrow is the beginning of the next stage of my work life. Surely hopefully theoretically it will lead me to job number four for the year two thousand and eight. I know it's my Saturn return year and all, but jesus. This is getting ridiculous.

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