I Quit My Job

Overall, it's time to celebrate! But, it's also time to be terrified of my new unemployed status.

If we've spoken in the past 15 months, then you know how much I hated my job. When I first started five years ago, it was an easy, stress-free data entry job. But, when the department began to transition into an era of new management and a new system, my job metaphorically shit the bed.

When I first moved to Atlanta, I was glad to be away from the stressful job I had in NOLA (Legal Assistant for a Bankruptcy firm). The work was easy, but the shifts working solo at the "Saturday" office was overwhelming; it's kind of funny, now, considering I am going back to school to get my Paralegal degree.

So, when I was able to snag a temporary position performing data entry work, I was happy. I enjoyed taking advantage of the lazy, pony-tail and hoodie-clad mornings along with the freedom to listen to podcasts all day. I was free from any drama and any real responsibility. I just went in at 7am, left at 3:30pm, and there was no taking work home (mentally). It was a nice shift from my previous job. And, since it was only supposed to last 12 weeks, it would be easy work while I looked for something permanent. Only, my boss began talking about offering a permanent position with the State; I planned to accept this, and transition to another agency as soon as I became eligible. My boss confirmed that if I was interested the position was mine. It would be offered "any day now", they were just "rewording the job titles". That b.s. went on for three years before I finally got a clue and gave up.

Then, last summer, without getting into the sickening details, the life was sucked out of me on a daily basis. I hated coming home in a bad mood, and I really hated the Sunday night dread. Friday afternoons were the best. Saturdays were good, but would always go by too fast. And on Sundays, "the countdown" would begin. By bedtime, I would be miserable - my stomach would ache, my brain would collapse, and I would get extremely irritated. Who needs that? Certainly not my awesomely sweet and supportive husband, who has his own case of the dreads to worry about.

So, I woke up last Monday and decided to call in sick. Then, Tuesday, I called in again, so that I could spend the day with my husband, who took a vacation day, and go see Iron Man II. On Wednesday, I was already on a winning streak of absence, so I called in yet again. By that night, with my husband's support, I decided I wasn't going back to work.

It was everything I thought it could be. My stress lifted, and angels probably cried.

But, now I've traded one anxiety for another - hating my job for not having a job. It's worth it.

Wish me luck, and send some dough!