I turned in my two weeks' notice on Friday.
Starting March sixteenth in the year of our lord two thousand and twelve (or as I like to call it, Saint Patrick's Day Eve), I'll be free of these coffee-stained shackles of mine. I'm hanging up the apron. Closing the till. Punching out my numbers, one more time.
It...hasn't quite sunk in yet. Damn near five years, now, I've poured myself into pouring people's coffee. I have loved the job, hated the job, tried to drink away the memories of ever having the job, and everything in between. And now it's about to end.
My life is about to seriously-for-reals-guys-I'm-not-kidding-hey-I-mean-it-this-time change. There will be set hours. There will be expectations related to my skill set and not my ability to smile and nod. There will be responsibility.
There will be weekends.
I am absurdly lucky.
I am stupendously lucky.
I am very scared. Very excited. Teetering on the edge of a precipice, about to close my eyes and jump in. Maybe it's full of fun things to land on, like marshmallows. Maybe I'll have to go all badass and catch a bird's legs or something on the way down. Maybe all that lies in wait for me is a bunch of jagged rocks and broken bottles. But the important thing is, I'm about to jump.
But if playing the hell out of those games means I get to go to this place--at any point in my life, ever--then I'll dig up the disks. Or just, you know, play it on my iPhone.
Man, I'm having Japan flashbacks. Cuteness on sleeve protectors? Not just on sleeve protectors, cuteness everywhere. Everything Kawaii. I once walked past a hair salon represented by a pair of beaming, anthropomorphized scissors and toward a bar with googly happy eyes on its beer sign. Even the cute mascots had their own cute mascots. Certain sections of Akihabara were probably a cynic's version of hell. Pink, big-eyed, cheery hell.
No comments:
Post a Comment