It’s been so long since I’ve gotten up in the morning and not blogged. These other posts I wrote at night, the posts since my triumphant return. Celebrate June’s triumphant return at the country fairgrounds and civic center.
I wish you tell you what’s new with work, but I worry about getting fired. I guess I can tell part of it because the company president told the story at our company meeting. Say “company” one more time, June.
I can’t remember which of the four states I’ve lived in that used to say the utterly hilarious line, “If you don’t like the weather in [Michigan, Washington, California, North Carolina], just wait five minutes and it’ll change.”
Whew. Let me get my needle and thread so I can stitch up m’sides. Oh, I can’t catch my breath.
Anyway, it was probably Washington, although in truth it is 63 degrees and raining in Washington 99% of the time.
Maybe it was Michigan, although in truth it’s 4 below zero there nine months out of the year there.
It wasn’t California. It’s 78 and sunny there. It just is.
Maybe it was here.
The POINT is, for the last year and a half, my job has been like that weather. Wait five minutes and something’s different. We’re going through a lot. And the thing is, I was really happy there, back when it was the way it was for the first six years.
So the first thing that happened this year was in February, a place I freelance for, a publishing house nearby, offered me a job out of the clear blue sky. I’d have been a senior editor, and it would have been sort of fancy. But they couldn’t pay me much more than I make already, AND I’d have a 40-minute commute instead of a five-minute one, so when I added it up, it didn’t make financial sense, and you all know what a financial guru I am.
You know what, though? I AM being a financial guru lately, so suck it.
I believe that’s Suze Ormon’s slogan. “I’m a financial guru. Suck it.”
Oh my god, anyway. So I turned that job down.
But I know you know that the changes at work had made me sad, feeling isolated. And so this summer I searched for a job and I found one. I got offered a job in Blacksburg, Virginia, although I wouldn’t have had to move there. I know someone in Blacksburg, though, a person I dated maybe three times before the distance got to both of us. So I know it’s cute there, had I been forced to move eventually.
I was going to be the manager of their social media, and that would’ve been exciting because two days ago marked the official 22nd year of me being a copy editor. At this point, there’s not much more I can, you know, learn about copy editing.
“You’re not gaining experience, you’re gaining years,” my Uncle Bill, who is a job guru, told me.
So I accepted the position. I’d be working from home, which I was a little worried about hating, but still.
I put in my notice at work, and my last day was going to be July 3.
I gave notice at the end of one day, and the next morning when I walked into work, I was heavy with regret. What had I done? Sure, I’d had some struggles, but mostly I loved it there.
HR had sent me an exit interview form that I could fill out instead of an in-person thing if I wanted. So I’d filled it out that morning, before work. I was just getting all set up at my desk and had even announced my leaving my job on stupid Instagram–in fact, I’d JUST hit Post–when my phone rang.
It was the president of our company. You know, as you do. Calling June’s phone. Another day, another buzz from the desk of our president.
“Hello, president of our company,” I said. I really did, too. I like to think I’m charmingly quirky, but probably everyone there wishes I’d die a fiery death or maybe melt like the Wicked Witch of the Weird.
“Have you got a minute?” he asked, and I always love it when powerful people ask you that. Well, you know, I just posted to Instagram and I kind of wanted to stay near my phone and watch the emoji responses roll in.
Anyway. You’ll be stunned to hear I said, “Oh, sure, I have a minute,” because hello.
The president of our company is a very likable person who clearly does 230483403205302 sit-ups a day. He probably gets up seven hours before I do and works out and then presidents and also never blogs emoji faces. He’s dignified. I understand that Rip Taylor is more dignified than me, but still.
My point is, there I was in the president’s office, which in the case of my company is not oval. It’s more of a rectangle.
And what we did in there was, we talked. I was honest with him about how I felt, he was honest with me about what’s going on, and in the end, I stayed.
I mean, it’s nice to know a quirky-yet-not-lovable, ancient, cranky copy editor who recently was in a hurry and tried to fix the spelling of assess and accidentally changed it to asses is valued, you know?
So I stayed. And then three days later got set selling my house, because chaos addict.
I have to go to work now, speaking of work, but I have many things to tell you about PAINT, so I know you’re on the edge of your seat, which sounds like a recipe for chafing. Toooooon in tomorrow for JUNE TALKS PAINT. WHAT SMELLS PAINT.
Meanwhile, I just went in to get more coffee and here were the sights I enjoyed.
Talk to you later. We can asses the situation.
P.S. This latest shooting, and how ridiculous that we have to call it “this latest shooting” makes me want to convert to Judaism. I have no idea why. But I think I’d make a fine Jewish person. I mean, I’m a fine anything. #Solid6.