“When one door closes, another one opens.”
I’ve heard that little nugget about 746,000 times in my life. And I hated it every time.
The fact of the matter is… it’s true.
To recap the ongoing saga of my professional life, I resigned from my job last week. I gave two weeks notice and then asked if I could use my vacation days so I could just move on and not have to come back.
Of course, the little megalomaniac with the Napoleon complex said, No.
I had a meltdown. I was livid. I was apoplectic. I gave him blast after blast and caught him in lie after lie, but all he said was, “I’m not into negotiating.” We ended the conversation badly and then I went on a Facebook tirade. It was rather brilliant, if I may say-so, but it didn’t help. I had to leave the house several times to keep myself in check. Once I went to the gym. Once I went to Costco. Going to Costco when the anger meter is on 11 is never a good idea.
Then I sat down and wrote a scathing letter to the managing director of the company, outlining just what a miserable place to work is has become and just how inefficient a manager my boss is.
Then I took another walk.
All the time, I could hear my old man saying, “Don’t burn any bridges, don’t burn any bridges.”
I’d like to say that I eventually calmed down, but all that really happened was I got too tired. I didn’t send the letter. I didn’t start any fights. I simply went about my day and then when I was fully exhausted at around 4am, I went to bed.
Except I didn’t fall asleep. I laid there in the dark, tossing and turning, mind racing, cats bugging. It was brutal. Quitting a job is not supposed to this stressful. For some reason I was worried that they were going to fire me. Wait a second, they can’t fire me. I already fired them.
I fell asleep shortly before 6am. When I woke, my back was sore. My head was aching, and I’m pretty sure I was a shade grayer than I was yesterday. I angrily crawled back to the living room and began to start my day with the notion that I was going to be heading into work at 7pm.
At 1:30, I got a call from the smarmy little worm. “Based on our conversation yesterday, we’ve decided to go ahead and release you.” I was puzzled to say the least. Did I get fired? I know that they are trying to screw me, but I just haven’t figured out their angle yet.
Anyway, slowly the anger dissipated. It didn’t happen all at once. First the back loosened up, so I started dancing. Then I started vacuuming. Then the dishes. I think some of the gray may have dissipated, The weight didn’t leave though, I still have the same belly I went to bed with.
I wrote positive messages on Facebook. I took my shirts to the cleaner. I went to the gym. I went shopping for sneakers and slacks. I WENT SHOPPING ON A FRIDAY! In short. I was happy. I was free. I wasn’t going to work. I had a weekend off. I didn’t need to take a nap, although I just might anyway. I couldn’t wait to get home to write this blog. I’ve been working on a new piece of fiction, so the blog has kind of fallen by the wayside.
Finally, I sat down and sighed. Freedom felt good. Then it dawned on me. I’m starting a new job in 10 days. Ugh. I felt my stomach tighten. The new job is going to be harder. The new job means new hours. It means taking the train. I might be miserable!
I shut the brain down immediately. That was just the fear talking. The simple fact is, I interviewed with 4 different people at the new job, and unless they are 4 terrific, amazing, undiscovered actors, they all loved the company they worked for. Maybe HR rounded up the only 4 people in the entire company that were happy, but I doubt it. The funny thing about negativity and positivity… they are both contagious.
My last stop was toxic. It was a miserable place and everyone in it was miserable as a result. If the interview process was any indication, that positivity is going to rub off on me. But that’s a topic for another day. I’ll let you know in 10 days. For now that needs to be put to bed.
For one Friday night, I’m free.