Guess what little babies? No, guess!
Today is my very last day. Huzzah! Just 7.5 hours until blessed, blessed unemployment. Crazy Barbara is bustling about preparing for my party, which is apparently going to be a thrown-down of gigantic proportions. She bought 40 pounds of ice.
This job has left its mark on me though, and probably not for the better. Before this year, I was a casual internet user. I checked my email a couple of times a day, looked things up now and then, but beyond that I wasn't much interested. But now! After having my eyeballs pasted to a screen 8 hours a day for 12 consecutive months! I'm addicted. I don't know what I'm going to do when Adam and I head off into the technology-free sunset of our Wild West Adventure. I'll be the cowgirl who's desperately searching for an internet cafe.
It's finally starting to hit me that I'm leaving New Orleans, and I'm sad. Not that there's anything specific that I didn't get to do here, you know, but it would have been nice to go tubing again, and Mardi Gras (when you do it right, and not the stupid naked tourist way) is really an amazing experience. It would have been nice to be able to do it more than once.
But then, everything's the most fun the first time, right? (Well, I can think of one or two exceptions, but still.) So you might as well try to have as many new experiences as possible. Yvette thinks I have some kind of serious psychological problem that makes me need change, change, change, and maybe she's right, but at least I don't get boring. Or bored. They usually amount to pretty much the same thing, I think.
I am really going to miss Adam, though. I've never had a friend like him. I'm not sure this diary does justice to his general amazing-ness, so you'll just have to trust me that he is very, very amazing.
I've been feeling guilty lately for talking to you all about him. Not that I expose any dark and dirty secrets--there aren't any, really. He knows about this journal, and could easily find it and read it if he so chose, but I know that he doesn't, at least for now.
Okay, I'm talking myself into a depression, and I don't want to be depressed on my last day of this shitty job. I even dressed professionally today (no birkenstocks), so I look quite glamourous. I expect weeping in the stacks as everyone watches me walk out the door.
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