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I quit my job on Friday. Not in the fun “hey screw you pal I don’t need this job I QUIT” way of quitting that I’ve always wanted to do. Just the boring, non-bridge-burning “just so you know my last day is in two weeks and it has been a pleasure to work for you” method. Not really any fun there, but it gets the job done and keeps me from looking like an effhole.

Have you ever broken up with someone who thought things were going swimmingly and then when you tell them that it’s over, they look like they couldn’t be more surprised if you had turned into a leprechaun just before you told them? Neither have I. But I bet that’s pretty similar to how things went when I told my bosses I was quitting. Although with the job thing, I don’t have to worry about coming home anytime soon and finding all of my clothes out on the front yard.

So today I embark upon a two week pleasure cruise of sitting here doing as little as possible because none of it matters at this point anyway. One could make the argument that I’ve been sitting here doing as little as possible for the past couple years and I wouldn’t argue with them. But now I have a point on the calendar that I can look at and say to myself, “It doesn’t matter how much or how little I do, because I have gainful employment established for myself after this point.” You know how they say that most people work just hard enough to not get fired? That’s where I’ve been for as long as I can remember, and I am looking forward to dialing it down a notch or two for the next fortnight.

As much as I’ve been wanting out of this job, you always run the risk of going to a new place and despising all of your new colleagues and coworkers. Interesting employment note: I have not worked with any women in almost eight years. That’s about how long I’ve been working for construction companies, and there just aren’t many women in the industry. I’m sort of hoping I can step into my new position and be the new office hunk. Sorry, ladies of the office, I’m taken.