tedwords

"World turning, I gotta get my feet back on the ground..." Christine Mcvie

Today is the two-week mark before the Corporate R day arrives. So today, I'm kind of feeling like I just turned in my proverbial two-week notice.

Of course, I haven't turned that in very often in my life. I probably did when I was a clerk at Cumbies in college, although I don't remember that much. At Aetna, I definitely did, in my mid-twenties. At Tarhell, I gave them one day's notice and took off with an acting troupe to Edinburgh, I disliked my horrible employers so much. At Chadmans, where I spent my late twenties, I probably did, but that was kind of a nothing job.

Then I went to Met and worked there through my thirties and forties, and Fido through my fifties. Those are really the only employers I've had for most of my adult life, through raising three kids, through divorce, through finding my man and finding myself.

I think I gave Met a month's notice, but I had an ungodly number of vacation days. I took a few and cashed out the rest to take the kids to New Orleans.

Ever the dutiful boy, I am trying to leave everything neat and tidy for whoever takes over my corporate burden.

It's just my way. Back before computers were commonplace, at both Aetna and Tarhell, I fastidiously divided my casework into three piles, all with detailed notes, with the piles labelled: easy, average, and "open at your own risk."

I have few "open at your own risk" items to pass on, these days. Challenges, certainly, but nothing that comes close to, say, a crossbow murder on 95. PR isn't quite as messy. And I certainly don't wish to leave a mess.

And yet? There's a part of me that feels like I could fall asleep tonight and wake up tomorrow in the bed I was sleeping in while I worked at Chadmans, or Tarhell, or Met, and get out, get dressed and pick up whatever I was doing back then with ease. I really don't feel like I have changed much at all.

Last night I woke up from a sound sleep, having a vivid dream about Green Victoria turning sideways at a 90 degree angle with Corb and I in it. It felt so intense! It clearly represents this life change I am facing.

Next week, I say goodbye to my friends in Rhode Island, the week after, my friends in Boston. And that Friday I turn in my badge and laptop (not files!) and say goodbye to the world I have known for three decades.

So tonight, I raise a Irish mudslide martini and toast to 14 days, two weeks or 336 hours, however you want to slice it. Here's to living life without the corporate label attached.

As always, I raise a cup to my friends, to all the awesome members of the Friday night Martini club! And love you, mom and pop! You truly mean the world to us. Have a great weekend, everyone.

Post-Friday night scribblings:

Another weekend where our Saturday morning was owned by folks wanting to get into the theater shop. This time, it was Doug, the director of our June show, who wanted to get into at eleven to assess what we had in terms of blocks and benches.

Corb was a little grouchy and distracted during the process, because the person who purchased a big leather chair at his new location got a look at the red leather chair that replaced it and clearly thought it was better. They wanted to switch it out, and the only problem is: the person who bought it is Brittany's landlord. So, Brittany was highly encouraging Corb to agree to make the switch but doing it in a really passive aggressive way. You know how people will say "It's totally your decision," when really, they mean it isn't at all?

Anyway, he was dealing with that, so I had to play the good friendly host for Doug.

After that, we went to get breakfast at 1130, went home, and he went off to pick up a chaise lounge for the first store location and I set down to work on our taxes. All done now, and I also managed to bring the three reindeer (Corb, Ted, and Josie) into the basement that had been stuck on our front porch for two weeks. Corb also has worked on decoupaging some wooden sewing drawers with Oz imprints, so he can store some Oz-ean matte prints in them for one of the stores.

Our routine has already started to take shape, and I kind of love it.

The new routine is now. A new order is taking shape. We're ready to turn the house by 90 degrees, one degree at a time.