It's not just the wall-to-wall clutter. It's also the anxiety. Once again I find myself stepping off that cliff, trusting in the Universe that employment will be quickly forthcoming once we're back in Phoenix. I'm somewhat reassured that I've been getting lots of emails from recruiters after simply updating my profiles on the various job boards, but there isn't really much I can do about any of it until I'm actually there—other than acknowledge their receipt and ask their patience. (So far, everyone's fine with my timeline and have told me to get in touch once I'm there.)
I've also reached out to previous coworkers, who have forwarded my resume to their respective managers. Hopefully networking the good relationships I built over the seven years I spent at Abrazo will come in handy before I have to do any cold interviews.
In any case, we're down to less than a week, and I just want all this—at the very least, the physical moving part—to be over.
Next Saturday at this time we'll be packed and on the road, beginning the next chapter of our lives with Denver and it's bipolar weather and heinous drivers rapidly fading into memory.
Four years ago we wanted an adventure. We got one. It's now time to go home.
The dogs are anxious; they know something's up. Normally well trained, they're both peeing everywhere now. Sammy is barking at every sound outside, and even the heretofore quiescent Bobo has developed a voice.
My stress is manifesting in the return of an old friend I haven't seen in nearly seven years, plantar fasciitis. Thankfully I still remember how to deal with it, so it's more an annoyance than anything else, but I wanna say, "Really dude? Now?"
Monday is my last day at DISH. My exit interview is scheduled for 4 pm (I normally leave at 4:30), and anyone there I care about saying goodbye to leaves at 4, so I'll have time to do so before the meeting with HR and being shown the door. They're going to get an earful, even though I know nothing I say will make any difference whatsoever.
