Butterflies
Nothing quite like the feeling of resigning from two jobs in under 6 weeks. Today I hand in my notice at P.O.W. after 4 weeks of employment. I'd like to say something regretful and rueful when I hand over that letter, but I don't have it in me. The work just isn't interesting to me...I wish it could have been worse in a way because it would make it all much more easy to say goodbye. It's not their fault, nor mine. Somehow I feel that this will all go badly. Regardless, I have three hours left until I "do it" and I am having trouble concentrating. Especially when everyone asks "So, it's been a month! Are you fitting in well? How's it going?" and I have to smile and say, "Very well thank you". Even my poor boss this morning said "Now you're getting the hang of it!" and I wanted to apologize to her for the deception when I smiled back and said "Yes, I think I am". It's not that I don't get it...I could do this job until the end of days but it doesn't excite me, interest me, or compell me. I would do this position a disservice by keeping it, because I couldn't possibly give it my all.
Moving on is equally scary. I received the 18 page contract on Sunday. If my email inbox could make a "thud" sound when it arrived, it would have. Reading the contract always raises goosebumps on me, and the thoughts of "What the hell am I getting myself into?!" rush around my addled brain. Reading the "you can be fired if"s and the "you will / will not do this"s always strikes the fear of God in me and makes me wonder what type of sadistic, unfeeling, faceless corporate entity I am getting myself in to.
This is how it always is though, isn't it? Those rules are for the slackers, the fire-ables, the deadbeat hires. I am not one of those. But nothing makes me want to tow the line faster than a "your *ss is ours" clause. I am now "owned".
I passed on the contract to Mummy Moo for review (ok, not so much for review, more strength in numbers) and she sighed: "If they are going to pay you that much, they will expect their pound of flesh"
Which translates as "I can now (finally) afford to go to Hawaii, but they may not let me leave".
The irony.
Moving on is equally scary. I received the 18 page contract on Sunday. If my email inbox could make a "thud" sound when it arrived, it would have. Reading the contract always raises goosebumps on me, and the thoughts of "What the hell am I getting myself into?!" rush around my addled brain. Reading the "you can be fired if"s and the "you will / will not do this"s always strikes the fear of God in me and makes me wonder what type of sadistic, unfeeling, faceless corporate entity I am getting myself in to.
This is how it always is though, isn't it? Those rules are for the slackers, the fire-ables, the deadbeat hires. I am not one of those. But nothing makes me want to tow the line faster than a "your *ss is ours" clause. I am now "owned".
I passed on the contract to Mummy Moo for review (ok, not so much for review, more strength in numbers) and she sighed: "If they are going to pay you that much, they will expect their pound of flesh"
Which translates as "I can now (finally) afford to go to Hawaii, but they may not let me leave".
The irony.
posted by Jennifer @ 11:28 a.m.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home