T-Intersection

I’d call it a ‘cross-road’ but there ain’t no going forward. This job is over; all that remains is tidying up loose ends.

I’m sitting here at the t-intersection with my feet up, enjoying the finality of a quietly closed door behind me. I know it’s quietly closed because there’s been not one whisper of what will happen once I’ve gone and there is the surprise of customers I won’t be recalled. And while I have my head cocked to hear that subtle knock to open the door again, I know it’s doubtful it will come; even if it did, I doubt I’ll accept.

There have been many omens today; omens I can’t ignore: there was the opportunity to farewell the post mistress who was so interested in the history of the place I grew up in. I had the opportunity to see my old house again (I’ve already wallowed in the memories and made peace with them); there was the fractious customer who comes in every three months to cause trouble – she’s sorted now, the completion of a sudden research project handed to me on Tuesday.

There was also (I say with no small amount of wickedness) the dream interpretation I did for the boss and my supervisor; one held up a shed that fell down around her no matter the support she tried, the other got lost in New York and was assisted by none other than Dolly Parton. The first one was easy; the second… well, my supervisor should look for assistance from an unexpected source.

Tomorrow is a half day for me: I have accrued the hours and while I could get paid for them, I choose to use them instead because I have a different focus now.

At this intersection, I have two choices: In one direction, there is the empty space of more nine-to-five work and the sameness that represents; in the other direction, is the lush forest of creativity and surprise.

There are no prizes for guessing which one I’ll chose. I already have a list of agents and publishers I’m going to try. I have a loose schedule for that and in the meantime, I have a bucket-load of short stories to submit – though I’m not confident; I don’t think I’m a short story writer, per se but I’ll give it a shot.

One thing I can say about departing is that I know I did my job, and did it well. Everything that was asked of me, I did, and more – as was instilled in me at a young age: if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well, no matter what it is.

I like that.

Oh, and for those who think this is a disaster for me: there is no depression as losing a steady income – and I’ve been there and been really poor as a result – the only regret I have is leaving the increased amount of work to someone who was planning to retire (I was to be her replacement) and to someone who suffers high blood pressure. There’s no guilt, for this decision has nothing to do with me; there’s no sense of loss, for those with whom I worked were colleagues and not friends (and I know the difference) – and I can always visit; plan to, in fact, to take photos of the area.
I feel, in fact, mellow, accepting, reflective, relieved and a little smug – just a touch. I have time, now. I only wrote three books last year, and that was for nano, so on a yearly basis, my output sucked.

On the plus side, I have plans for more… now, where did I put that idea's book?