Aug. 19th, 2002

Most specifically, the system's.

I like working. I don't always like a particular job, but I like the schedule, the social aspects, the sense of accomplishment, and the economic power of a paycheque. In the past when I've pictured my life it has always included a job in the 9-5 sense.

Today I told my ex-boss, the person who hired me for my original job, that I am turning in my resignation after labour day. I told her today because she started to make plans involving me, because I couldn't keep it in any longer, because a long time ago I promised to give her warning, and because something just snapped.

So this really started the process of resigning. Which means trying to make the dreams of other people in my system come true, for a non 9-to-5 job of writing what they want to and sending it out in the world. We have freelanced before, so it's not an entirely entirely new thing but...

... that was before anything made sense. That was back when I might as well do whatever 'cause I could only ever make sense of about 4 hours of my day anyway (I never had any real idea that time was in any way linear). So it was easy to ignore.

As soon as I told her panic set in: a rich deep kind of panic. There's economic panic, although that's easy enough to talk myself out of: that is what we prepared for, although not half so well as we might have of course. No, it's the sheer emotional panic of not knowing what will happen. Who will I be, without a job? I know the writers are both terrified and happy but at least they have something to do.

Eek! I'll have to find something.




September 2006

24252627 282930

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags