Today is my last day at The Day Job. My coworkers are taking me to lunch–I chose the local BBQ joint, as American barbeque is not something I’ll get a lot of overseas. (It’ll be damn good South African braai, excellent but not the same.)
My desk was full of extra stuff. I’m like a Boy Scout, I’m prepared for freaking everything. Because of my food allergies I have tons of food options–snacks, lunches, tins and a can opener. A blanket for when it got really cold. A heater and a fan, because the office is never the temperature I want. I made the space my own, with decals on the cabinets, a big wall calendar (insta-art!) and a cheap mirror to bounce light around.
For all that I’ve complained, it’s worked for me.
My apartment looks like a bomb went off, as my parents have had to move in with me for the final 10 days. They had not just their luggage with them, but a bunch of stuff that wasn’t ready for the container when their house was packed up, like files that needed to be closed out. And then there was the food. Dear gawd, the food. So much food. Frozen stuff, cold stuff, gluten free stuff that we just can’t bear to part with out of hand.
This weekend, I am having a waffle, damnit.
The flights are booked, the cars are booked, the hotel we’re staying in for our last night is booked. Everything is a go.
And now it’s time for me to… go.