I just quit my day job. I’m out of work in two weeks. Do I care?
What is a job anyway but the dead zone between coffee and cocktails? People who really like their jobs scare me. If God wanted us to like our jobs, we’d be getting paid for having sex and watching The Family Guy. Instead we glumly exchange physical and mental wellbeing and self-esteem for dribbles of lucre and less vacation time than anyone else in the universe.
My horoscope for today read: “Pleasure awaits you by the seashore,” which I instinctively understood to mean, “Quit your job.” (I have a gift that way.) So I did. And now, I will have time to focus on the really important things in life: my sweet Katharine, my writing, regenerating my body and soul and finding a new job before bald men with baseball bats track me down.
I’ve already mapped out a grueling “at home” regimen for myself: Wide-eyed and ready to go at noon, wash down an Egg McMuffin with a Corona, watch two hours of The Man Show, put on clothes, nap, win a couple of levels of “Red Faction” on the PS2, write for twenty minutes, watch some financial show on some channel, you know, to really get my chops ready for that next big job, fall asleep on the couch. Yes, it’s brutal, but believe me, it’s what I have to do to set myself apart from the rest of the pack.
So the bottom line is, don’t be afraid to be a quitter. There’s life after work...until you run totally out of money, but that’s another blog for another time.