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The Night Before

Is there such a thing as “workioritis”? It’s like senioritis, but for workers approaching their final days at their job. That’s how I’ve been feeling since I had my mini-break last week.

Monday and Tuesday have been long(!) days, but tomorrow should be half a day for me; I’m hoping. It’s surreal that I now stand at the doorstep of my final day there at my job. I’ve worked there for 4 years, and now it’s time to move on. I remember when I applied for that position, which I believe coincided with the creation of my blog here. I had just gotten into a car accident, where I claim it’s not my fault but the police says it was my fault *eyeroll*. So I needed a job to help pay for the accident, and for my grad school which I was days away from starting. But it couldn’t be full-time, because I saw no positive things from me working full-time and going to school full-time. Since I lived at home, it allowed me the benefit of not needing to work many hours (yet) and focus on my studies.


It was one of the best decisions I made, and my job was so lenient with my studies; changing my work schedule if necessary to allow me to go to class or work on a project. And then I graduated on my birthday, December 2017, eager for the next chapter of my life. Except, as you all know following me, it took a little longer than I had anticipated. There were interviews here and there, but no one took a flyer on the kid who recently graduated. Yet along the entire way, my bosses and coworkers were supportive; knowing the right opportunity will come. Now there were days where they wondered when I’ll get a new job, because we all knew working part-time (at my age where I should be starting a career) was not meant to last forever. It started to make me wonder, as well, just when will someone take a chance on me. And then you know what happened next. . . I was given that shot. Rather than do what the rest of my cohort did, I pursued the road less taken; as I tend to do, whether that’s a good thing or bad. And the wait was worth it.


Well, here we are at the night before my last day at work. If I’m honest, I just want to quickly say goodbye and leave. I hate dragging such things on forever, but I’m well aware that it’s more for them than myself. I’m the same way with funerals, as I want absolutely no part in them. To me, it’s never goodbye but rather we’ll meet again someday, somehow. And if we never do see each other again, it’s still not a goodbye. Goodbye is like a guaranteed “we’ll not see each other again”; not exactly, but I think you understand the context I’m setting. Rather, I like to leave that hope there that maybe, just maybe, we will run into each other again; whether in this city, in this world, or in another life. So, tomorrow I’ll have my farewells with everyone at work and come home to finalize my packing. My renter’s insurance is paid for, and everything should be ready for me up there. Once I leave work tomorrow, and walk to my car, that officially ends one chapter. Then comes those few days of stillness, reflecting, transitioning. . . and then change will take place.

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