last day

It's real. After 5 years, 2 months, and 13 days, I am working my last shift. I suppose I should be sad, but instead I'm a little numb. I'm tired. I don't want to drive ten hours tomorrow. I wish I didn't have to sleep on my sister's floor tonight.

I'm transient at the moment, although not in the strictest technical sense. I feel unmoored. I have a room waiting for me in New Mexico, but it's unpainted and filled with boxes. At the moment, I have 24 hours worth of plans. I'm going to finish my shift, sleep, and drive. After that, though, I don’t know. What will I do? Where will I work? How will I support myself? Who will I hang out with? Are there hot men there?

I've been a dispatcher for six years now, and my identity is shaped (well, misshapen) by that job. It informs the way I talk, my sleep schedule, the landmarks I remember, my sense of humor, and the kind of books I write. I have been a useful person in my little community--responsible and capable. But now, I’m seized with anxiety. What if I prove to be incompetent at lying by the pool? A feckless and irresponsible driving instructor? Crappy at making canapés for my brother’s wedding?

Sorry, guys. I’m feeling my sympathy base melt like snow in May.

But where will I find a job in which my coworkers and I can discreetly diss the rest of the world in a complicated number-based argot? Or where I can decide I want to come to work at three in the afternoon and rig my schedule in such a way that I actually can, nearly half the time? Or where I have a three day weekend every week, except when they call me and insist that I come in, right away, because staffing is short?

Oh, wait. Maybe I won’t miss this job, after all.