Quitting


So, here I am, with approximately 24-hours remaining before I attempt to quit my job. My thoughts are flying, running possible scenarios, preparing contingencies, wondering if it's the right thing to do. My stomach is siding with my brain on that last point. It and my chest are both scared as hell that I'm making the wrong choice, clenching themselves into little knots to hammer the point home. And then my brain replays the frustration and anger segments that have abounded since the start of the year...hell, since November, and the tension eases slightly. But then it slowly begins to build again.

Last night in bed, I was talking to my wife about this. I was telling her how hard it is to stay focused on leaving because Steve isn't always a pain-in-the-ass. In fact, he was utterly painless yesterday. I started to say something along the lines of: "...I don't know. It just seems like life at work is..." I trailed off as looked at the digital clock next to the bed. Its green L.E.D. display was reflecting the time (11:34) off of the glossy surface of the nightstand. In the reflection, the time clearly read "hEll". Okay, it was backward, but everyone knows that "llEh" isn't a word. It's a sign, I tell you!

So there I have it. Work is hEll with a capital 'E' (whatever that means), and I do this with the intent of easing the tension in my life, as well as increasing the scope of my knowledge into new realms.


Copyright © 1997 by Mike Marchi