Friday, March 22, 2013


English: Tacoma, Washington bridge at night.
It's five o'clock on Friday evening. The office is empty except for Ralph, our IT troll, and me. The window panes are vibrating slightly from the traffic fifty feet away, and this whole place smells of cleaning supplies. Even the janitors have gone home for the weekend.

Monday morning I'll fly out to Georgia for our quarterly review. I'll spend a week in Atlanta discussing projected sales, refund percentages, database developments, customer service automation, budgeting, growth plans, staffing, benefits, supply, et al.

I'll be asked how I feel about moving to Boston or Detroit for awhile to help start up our third or fourth operation.

I'll sleep in a hotel room, and spend almost every waking hour with our management team. I'll train a new lead for our plant down there because the last lead - my right hand girl - has just been promoted to a management position in another department.

I'll leave Georgia for Texas, where I'll stand before a judge and receive my divorce decree. And then, I'll come back to Tacoma and move into my new place within 4 days.

I can't remember the last time I felt so excited.

But in the meanwhile, I sit here looking out my window at the rush-hour traffic. It's raining, the sun is gone. People are going home to their families and loved ones. I have a good four hours of work left, and no one at home waiting to hear all about this.

I know, I know. I said I had a renewed appreciation for being single. And I do. But nights like this, I wish I had a boyfriend. We'd order a ten o'clock pizza, watch a movie while we talk about our workdays, and fall asleep together on the couch. Nights like this, I want to share my excitement.

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