It's been a stressful week. I've been packing up and carting off over a decade's worth of desk detritus in measured increments. There was some catharsis and glee, dumping out thick binders full of documentation and specs that I will no longer have to look at or lug around with me ever again. But I felt far more distressed, punctuated by surreal, than I thought I was going to. It's not like I loved my job or anything. It was a soul-sucking, occasionally-distracting foray into corporate America that paid me well. I got no joy, no true sense of accomplishment or satisfaction from it; which is a pretty sad statement to make about ten-plus years of servitude.
I'm looking forward to having the chance to focus more on my writing and publishing efforts. Hoping I can find a way to make a living from it before our savings and/or health coverage runs out. If not (I fully realize how stacked the odds are against me), I suspect I can go back into IT or find something else.
The thing is, I didn't realize how stressed I was about this until I started experiencing a slew of minor aches and pains--persistent headache, soreness across my shoulders and back, fatigue. You'd think someone with a Master's in Psychology would have figured it out sooner, wouldn't you? So yeah, though I hadn't expected to be dismayed by the situation since I've had so much time (over a year) to come to grips with it, I'm wide-eyed and trembly about this major life change.
Once I realized this, of course, I felt better immediately. Matthew and I went out to see Constantine and I've been downing the caffeine and OTC analgesics--therapy and meds for under $20. I feel better, optimistic again. I'll see about applying for unemployment next week, and getting my COBRA ducks in a row (oh no, more ducks!).
And best of all, I think my muse may be ready to emerge from her extended absence.
So, I'm okay.