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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