Agent of Chaos: Day Two Hundred Sixty-Eight

209428_7067Some days you just kind of have to trust that the words are there and that you can focus on other things until the very last moment because right now, all I have are other things pushing up against the outer limits of very last moments.  How am I going to do this, guys?  I can’t remember what needs doing from one day to the next and every day a good two days worth of work gets added to the stack.  Even saying, hey, turn off the spigot, I’m getting out of this tub, they’ve just loosen the drain and sucked me down into a much bigger cauldron, a well that reaches reservoirs that go on forever.

And before I forget, since we got delicious, wine-flavored beef stew with garlic bread and salad with capers and mint and cilantro and it didn’t overwhelm anything because she’s such a great cook, dinner was a kind moment of respite tonight after all of these bizarre and necessary tasks.  I am so grateful for my aunt who shares my very heart and got the news about her health that we all wanted to hear.  It made me forget mostly about the strain of the day, this load I have to carry for a little bit longer (and in my head for a good while after that)

Of course, today means more telling folks that I am leaving.  More sincere reactions of honest care for me and muted panic.  They all sort of blur together into a hum of “yes, go, it is time for you to fly, to leave and move on to better things.”  Funny how when you’re working somewhere if you were to prance in and start pronouncing what you were doing as insignificant, less than, or otherwise not worth the time, they’d kick you out on your ear.  But when you go, self-effacement becomes very popular.  I find myself really trying gloss over how excited I am.  It’s exactly as all the articles on how to diplomatically, peacefully, properly, with grace and class and savoir faire resign from your job say it goes.  They are all great and supportive about how this is good for me, but they can’t quite keep back fully the sort of angsty, half-joke, half-frustrated comments.  My boss joked about using the wine from what is essentially our wine cellar in the basement for my goodbye party and she said she could crack the bottle over my head like champagne.  Almost immediately she laughed and joked that I would lock her in the cellar for that one and I laughed, too, because I know she didn’t mean it, but it felt mildly Freudian. I am sort of deserting her with the two she has the most challenges with and I’m both sorry about that and, well, the big job means the bigger problems, right?

Tomorrow: more breakfast meetings.  Writing group.  More telling the tale.

It’s going to be, whether or not it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be.

 

 

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