…I’d be at my front-desk job, 5.50am or so, yawning over the keyboard, wondering what the heck I was doing there, swearing I didn’t belong there and really needed to sort myself out.
Then around 7am, one of the workers would come in, looking more miserable than I felt. I don’t think many people look forward to a cold 6am start, do they?
I knew I had an option. I could leave the job if I wanted to. She didn’t seem to think she had much of a choice. I could just see it on her face. I wanted to tell her that there’s always a choice. Always. But something stopped me. Not sure what or why.
Anyway, so it’s been almost 2 weeks since I quit that job, and here I am, at home, warm, listening to the radio, happy I made the move.
I don’t regret leaving. If the clock wound back, I’d do the same thing again, maybe with my hips swinging a bit more, and a few somersaults thrown in, whisking out of there on a pair of roller skates and an operatic voice to boot!
The dust’s settling a bit, though…and the apprehension’s starting to kick in, and I’m starting to think ‘oooh shit’.
Have a good week, people. Wade orange through it, ya hear?