It still doesn't seem real. S was asking me over IM a minute ago if I was having trouble staying focused/giving a shit since this is my last day, and I said, "Yes . . . but I have trouble with that every day." Part of me knows that I won't be here on Monday, but most of me doesn't get it. I wore my pretty party sundress and flip-flops, in order to try to convince myself of the impending freedom, but so far it's not really working.
I was driving to work this morning (last morning rush hour on the 520, boo-yah!), and I was worrying. I kept thinking about how in the next couple of weeks, I have to get situated in a new job, new school, and new apartment, get my best friend married, and on top of all this, my car needs about three trillion dollars in repairs. It would all be okay if I just had enough money, but I don't have enough money and I'm kind of scared.
So I'm driving/panicking, and the last song I hear before I get to work is Interpol, "NYC," which is the perfect, perfect break-up song for me and Corporate America. "I know you've supported me for a long time, but somehow I'm not impressed . . ."
It's going to be good. I'm going to be okay. I have a good family, good friends, and I'm not completely stupid. I can make this work.
Thanks again for all the electronic love. It means a lot. Please take good care of yourself, and I'll be in touch soon.
Later for you, Corporate America.
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