I decided at the end of October to leave my job. Perhaps I should say the decision was made for me, since I was overcome by the strongest urge to simply bolt, an urge that had me in tears my last working day, and almost paralyzed me with dread and fear until I sent my resignation by e-mail. I would like to say I was filled with a sense of relief that carried me through the many weeks until I was working again, but that would only be partly true. I was relieved to be away from the rudeness of certain coworkers and the ineptitude of the so-called managers, but I am a realist, so I was also very, very stressed out as only non-employment and the job search process can make me. I traded one set of stresses for another, but ultimately and deep inside I knew that the decision was correct.
The job I found after three solid months of searching and worrying is an accounting position with a property management company here in town, one I can walk to, and with hours I like (8:00 to 4:30). My first week was filled with plenty of learning and also plenty of praise for my efforts. I have a boss that I like just as much as my primary co-worker, both of whom have been immensely helpful in getting me up to speed. Finally, I can exhale. Friends of mine have proven to be a blessing, offering emotional as well as financial support, and I love and thank them.
Dad just turned 87 and sounds very happy and healthy. He is comfortable in his new apartment, and for that I am very grateful. It's good to know that there are people near who can help him when he needs it. I really don't think he has Alzheimer's or even dementia, just the forgetfulness that comes with age. Hell, those of us in our 50s tend to forget why we walked into a room or logged onto our computers, and we're not ready to be shipped off just yet, thank you.
When I turned 30, I did nothing to mark the occasion. When I turned 31, I took a trip from Grand Rapids to Chicago with Jamie Scenna for four days of fun. When I turned 40, again I did nothing. When I turned 41, I booked myself a flight to New York to hear Rosanne Cash debut at Lincoln Center on my birthday, which was the first of many times seeing her. Last year when I turned 50, I gave myself a little trip to Boston, but that didn't really count, and you can see the pattern here ... I am running out of time to do something for 51, which will be next month. It's possible I'll go to see Ms. Cash yet again, but this time at Metropolitan Museum of Art on Valentine's Day. It's a few days after my day, but it will be a nice way to wrap up a decade of good shows and to give myself a treat.
P.S. The Dar Williams and Paula Cole shows were excellent! Wow.
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