Quitting my job turned out not to be quite as dramatic and painful as I'd assumed it would be. Last Monday, I drove on down to work. My stomach was in knots, even though my brain was cheerleading as best she could, "Everything will be fine. Fine, you'll see!" My stomach would not listen.

I'd even built up the whole scene in my head for so long that I was in a state of utter disbelief when I was actually standing there in front of my boss. I was surrounded on either side by two dogs who'd been sleeping in her office before I arrived. I pet them while I talked, something I highly recommend to ease your nerves. Unless you're afraid of dogs, in which case, that's probably not the best idea.

After she'd jotted down some last minute items and said, "What's up?", I told my boss I needed some days off next week. She responded by writing them down and cheerily saying, "Okay! Got it."

That was unexpected!

Then I just let her know that starting in February, I'll be busier, need a few days off every month, etc, etc. She grimaced in that way that she does, like she's just been kicked in the shins. "I know," I said in response. "That's why I was thinking maybe I'd have to quit at the end of January."

We talked a little more and decided that was the best plan of action. She asked what I was up to. I told her about UCLA and that I plan on going down there a few times and scoping things out at the university as well as looking for housing. She congratulated me and we talked about my goals of working at a zoo one day, and she seemed happy for me.

It was all very casual and pleasant (I don't know why this surprised me!), and starting Jan. 31st, I'm out of a job I'm on vacation!

Party at my place. Bring chips!

~~Meg