it’s so hard to say goodbye

I’ve been largely ignoring the fact that this is my last week at work – all the preparations for the upcoming London trip took over, and I buried myself in logistics and making sure I’m taking enough low-cut dresses to offend the entire British Empire. However, yesterday afternoon it kind of hit me for the first time .. this is my last day. I’m leaving this afternoon, and I’m not coming back. It doesn’t seem real, even with all my desk toys and posters and endless Diet Coke cups gone. Everything has felt like regular vacation preparation: finalizing deliverables, handing off projects, sprinkling wisdom like candy giblets amongst the children of the corn .. but it’s not temporary, and I won’t be taking my work back when we return from London. This is it. This chapter is finished, and everyone will move on without me.

That’s probably the hardest part, too. I’m just egomaniacal enough to want my co-workers to throw their hands up in despair and wail at the thought of a future without me, but I know that is ridiculous. It’s been hard to let go, and harder to hear talk of my replacement(s), and hardest of all to hear plans on how they’re going to try and fix the things that are broken. I can’t help but be sad over that – if people had tried to fix things six months ago, I’d still be here. It sucks to hear all the effort to fix things NOW, but maybe I can take some small solace in being a catalyst for that change. I wasn’t just idly complaining, but seriously trying to fix things and being cockblocked at every turn until I had to give up the good fight for my own sanity, healthy, and happiness. Some days I feel like I took the easy way out, especially during weeks like this – it’s been quiet, fun, and productive at work. However, there’s a very pointed reason for the calm: the cause of all the problems (and the reason I quit) has been on vacation all week, and without his interference, we’re accomplishing things and doing great work. A vacation doesn’t last forever, though, and when he returns, I’d be just as badly off .. worse, in fact.

I don’t need to worry about it anymore, but it’ll take some time for my rage to subside. I didn’t WANT to quit. I loved this job. I am still angry about the gaslighting and abuse. That may never go away, but I am going to try to push it down the emotional ladder .. and three weeks in Europe will probably help. In fact, I’m sure of it.

Deep breath. I’m almost done. Time to remember all the good – like the amazing people I’m leaving behind, who made me in Lego form:

accurate down to the tattoos and diet coke (they told me they weren't able to make the cleavage bigger) :D

accurate right down to the tattoos and diet coke (there are limits to the amount of cleavage lego can have) :D