So I was doing some math, because that's what I do for fun sometimes, and it helps me decompress. I thought I'd figure out how long I've been living with my coworkers, as in, what the time passage would have been if we were living together 24/7 instead of me showing up for nine hours a day-ish (unpaid lunch.) It turns out that, when I assume a sixteen hour waking day, and factor in vacations, I've basically been living with my coworkers the equivalent of slightly less than a year and a half. During that time we've had a lot of roomies come and go, but the core group that I identify with have all been at this house I've chosen to call work a long time. Some of them have been there for the duration.
It feels … weird. I'm not sure what I was looking for when I began crunching the numbers. Am I trying to make myself sad?
Growing up, early on my family moved in and out of towns in far less time. It wasn't until we came to the PacNW that we stayed in one place, finally. On my own, I tend to be a settler. 😀 We lived for seven years in our first, so-called starter house, you know, the one that the real estate agent reminded us that we can move out of it in a couple of years, like it's a perk to not hang out in the first home you choose or something. We've been in our current house for close to fourteen years. I've contemplated moving, but it's along the lines of, it would be nice to try a different climate. The passion to relocate isn't there. I love my house, love my town.
And I love my coworkers.
I'm leaving my day job because my evening job is where my passions are rooted, and juggling the two has become too painful. I've been short-changing my writing and design work, and marketing that work has been an afterthought rather than a serious pursuit. So it's no surprise that, at the moment, I'm the writer that almost no one has read, though lots of people have seen my cover designs. (But hardly anyone cares about cover designers! And that's totally cool. It would be a little weird to have people run up to me and say OMG, I love your cover designs! Would you <blush> please sign my copy of Big Bloody Book of Violence? <squee!!!>) I'd like to be better known for a few reasons, but one big one for me is it would be so wonderful to find people who like the same stuff I like. More than I'd like to be better known, I'd like some serious writing and design time, so I can immerse myself, and learn, and play, and grow as an artist.
Having some time to practice violin again wouldn't hurt my feelings either. And the garden needs some serious work. And then there's the goats, and the chickens, and I'm thinking about teaching our little herding dog how to run agility courses (though she'll never compete: she's too aggressive with other dogs.)
So here I am. I've packed to leave my house-of-day-job. I'm taking all the essentials, but I'm leaving a few things behind. Not on purpose. It just happens like that, when you've shared a home with people you like, and in the complicated process of collecting your shit you lose track of stuff. I know I'll be leaving behind big pieces of my heart, but there's just so much of it scattered around, I know I'll never get it all, so I guess it'll just stay there. As for the other, less-tangible things, they'll remain behind, and if anyone finds them there maybe they'll be reminded of me.
I'll come in to visit a lot, but I'll be an outsider. Will it be awkward? I don't know. But I can't not come back. That would be horrible, to shop there with my head ducked down and dark glasses on, trying to avoid eye contact or worse, never shopping there. I have to go in, and say hi, how's it going.
Okay, I'm sad now. Mission accomplished, I guess. But I have this work, this work that's my life. The day job was also my life for a year and a half, by my calculations, and well over seven years, counting the usual way and taking away my fourteen months that I took off for personal reasons. This is the math of saying goodbye, and thank you for your support, and I guess I'll be seeings you here and there, when it's time to pick up new hinges, a carton of my favorite cereal, some low-salt almonds and of course some chocolate.
I'll miss you. No math required.
BiMart, October 2007 – January 1, 2016