Ripped directly from an e-mail I just sent, because I'm too tired to write much more, and I need to be up in six hours so I can go model.
Although I worked my last catering shift (hopefully ever) tonight, so things are already looking a damn sight better. Or maybe that's because I got cut before the heavy part of the breakdown ensued, went and sat in Cafe Abir reading "Jean de Florette" for a couple of hours, and then went to Lefty O'Doul's and got plastered on one Screwdriver while listening to a piano man in a red shirt and corduroy vest playing "Another Brick in the Wall" and "Sweet Caroline" to a group of completely blotto women in red hoodies and headbands with fake reindeer antlers attached. Oh, the humanity!
I've left other employment with more fanfare. Not that much more; my departure from ILM was effected very, very quietly. In part because I was still on crutches and heavy pain meds after having my knee rebuilt, and bearing a striking resemblance to hell on toast. But tonight, well; I just mentioned to a few people that I thought tonight was the last shift I was going to take with the company, ever, and I tried to be particularly kind to guests and coworkers and clients, tried to go out gracefully.
Sadder than expected. I've been with this company six, nearly seven years. Had some fun. But at one point, as I was going back and forth between bussing and the room I was looking after with one plate in my hand, I started thinking about what I could have accomplished with all the energy I'd spent walking back and forth all night, with one plate, one dirty glass, one small stack of spoons. Thought about all the things I could have built, painted, or written with that effort, and I knew.
Enough.
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