Countdown
TWO AND A HALF MORE WEEKS. SEVEN MORE SHIFTS.
And then I get to pack up my desk and get the hell out of Dodge. THAT'S RIGHT, I QUIT MY EFFING JOB!! And I've been doing a happy dance since the day I submitted my resignation a week and a half ago and haven't really stopped since. It felt like bad form to announce it elsewhere but I had to say it somewhere.
People's first response has been to apologize, and I'm like Seriously. Don't apologize. This wasn't working. They needed someone who could be there 5 days a week, I could only be there 3 days a week, and everyone was miserable for it. I didn't have enough time to do my job, things got missed, no one could handle issues that came up, and EVERY single day I walked into a huge mess and spent all day either playing catch up on things I missed or doing damage control on the shit that went wrong. I felt horribly guilty for not being able to do my job and yet completely set up to fail at the same time.
Between that and literally working 7 days a week, almost 24/7, the stress was really starting to get to me. Anxiety. Insomnia. No appetite. Constant nausea. Inability to concentrate. Nightmares. Every. Single. Night. So bad that I woke up Husband almost every time. Bad grades on assignments simply because I just forgot to do them. I haven't seen or talked to my friends in upwards of 2 months now. No patience, short temper, and absolutely no reserves left.
So I had to make a choice. Is it worth this kind of quality of life? Is it worth being miserable for a minimum of another year? A few years ago, I might have said yes. But life is too damn short. For all I know, my immune system could go defunct from being so stressed out and I could get some kind of crazy cancer and die in 6 months. It just took me a looooooong time to decide that it is in fact ok to put my own happiness as top priority. So I did. (It's worth mentioning that Husband's consistent party line has been "I encourage you to try for as long as you can, but if quitting is what you need, then I'm behind you 100%" . . . thank god.)
It's been two weeks since I handed in my notice and I haven't yet regretted it. (Someone please remind me of that in a few months when I'm lamenting being dirt poor . . . the hardest part is losing the ability to pay for travel, but it wasn't like I had the free time to do it anyway.)
It's not very often that I call anything quits, so. I'm scared. And excited. And many, many other feelings which I will probably bury until I have the time and emotional reserves to drag them out, identify them, reconcile and accept them, and store them away.
As of October 18th, I will be "just" a student. And as of August 2013, I will hopefully have metamorphosed into the best damn midwife this country has ever seen. At least that's the plan. >=)
And then I get to pack up my desk and get the hell out of Dodge. THAT'S RIGHT, I QUIT MY EFFING JOB!! And I've been doing a happy dance since the day I submitted my resignation a week and a half ago and haven't really stopped since. It felt like bad form to announce it elsewhere but I had to say it somewhere.
People's first response has been to apologize, and I'm like Seriously. Don't apologize. This wasn't working. They needed someone who could be there 5 days a week, I could only be there 3 days a week, and everyone was miserable for it. I didn't have enough time to do my job, things got missed, no one could handle issues that came up, and EVERY single day I walked into a huge mess and spent all day either playing catch up on things I missed or doing damage control on the shit that went wrong. I felt horribly guilty for not being able to do my job and yet completely set up to fail at the same time.
Between that and literally working 7 days a week, almost 24/7, the stress was really starting to get to me. Anxiety. Insomnia. No appetite. Constant nausea. Inability to concentrate. Nightmares. Every. Single. Night. So bad that I woke up Husband almost every time. Bad grades on assignments simply because I just forgot to do them. I haven't seen or talked to my friends in upwards of 2 months now. No patience, short temper, and absolutely no reserves left.
So I had to make a choice. Is it worth this kind of quality of life? Is it worth being miserable for a minimum of another year? A few years ago, I might have said yes. But life is too damn short. For all I know, my immune system could go defunct from being so stressed out and I could get some kind of crazy cancer and die in 6 months. It just took me a looooooong time to decide that it is in fact ok to put my own happiness as top priority. So I did. (It's worth mentioning that Husband's consistent party line has been "I encourage you to try for as long as you can, but if quitting is what you need, then I'm behind you 100%" . . . thank god.)
It's been two weeks since I handed in my notice and I haven't yet regretted it. (Someone please remind me of that in a few months when I'm lamenting being dirt poor . . . the hardest part is losing the ability to pay for travel, but it wasn't like I had the free time to do it anyway.)
It's not very often that I call anything quits, so. I'm scared. And excited. And many, many other feelings which I will probably bury until I have the time and emotional reserves to drag them out, identify them, reconcile and accept them, and store them away.
As of October 18th, I will be "just" a student. And as of August 2013, I will hopefully have metamorphosed into the best damn midwife this country has ever seen. At least that's the plan. >=)