242. At The End Of The Day

You’re another day older!

(Les Misérables soundtrack play in the background)

So tomorrow’s my last day at work.

That’s life for you, isn’t it? The more you dread something, the more something’s a grind, the longer you have to stick around. The moment I changed my mind about the job where there is no work to be done, then comes the time for me to go and move on with life. It’s almost like one of them stories – the protagonist never gets to rest.

It is, in fact, an advice given to writers who are just starting out: if your protagonist is comfortable, you’re not doing your job right. Being the protagonist of my own story, it’s probably fitting that all these things come together at this time too.

So yes, tomorrow is my last day at work. Tomorrow is the end of the 3 months, and after tomorrow, a new adventure begins. A new adventure which, I suspect, will involve playing a lot of video games and being broke a lot.

I can’t say that I’ve been happy for the job that I had, because the job itself has taught me nothing at all. And that’s the honest truth. What I’m thankful for is the time that I’ve had over the last 3 months, time that I have spent reflecting and doing some serious thinking about who and what I want to be, about what I’m looking for in this life. Can’t say that I’ve found it, but I have at least got my bearings.

Now there’s just the matter of making money.

Before I go on: I feel that it’s important, at this point, to say that none of my coworkers (in my department, at least) knows that I’m leaving the company. On Friday, one of them was still cheerily giving me tips on how to get clean water from the office pantry, because apparently, the water that comes out from the tap is filthy.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her than I’ve been making tea almost everyday out of that tap water, and I thought that it was delicious.

Maybe I won’t tell them at all. Maybe I’ll just pack up my things and leave, and leave them to speculate whatever happened to the intern who had nothing to do. Maybe I’ll become the stuff that legends are made of.

(“And then he mysteriously disappeared, and no one has heard from him since…”)

My mom, ever the voice of conscience, insisted that I buy something nice for them, as a token for thanks, or at least a token of good-riddance before I leave. Maybe I’ll do both – buy them something nice, then disappear without a trace.

In my resignation letter to the company director, I said that I will be leaving the company to pursue further career paths, or something along those lines. I wonder if living like a hobo can be considered a legitimate career path.

Wherever I find myself though, you can at least bet that I will still be writing.



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