Yesterday was my first day home all day long with the three kids. Wow. Man, they have energy and moods. Today Tall and Grande are going to visit PA to be with their dad. He'll be here in a few hours and will be taking muh-boyzzz away from me for four days. Ass. Grande is getting his braces removed after something like five years - that's tomorrow, and I can't wait to see his great smile minus the metal. He's pretty happy about it, too.
So, why did I quit my job? Well, it's a complicated story that ends in a full blown panic attack. I'm sure I've captured a huge audience by now, so here goes...
As you may have read my family plan is to move to Seattle by January. We're getting close to January. Venti has three jobs in the works. One is quite unlikely, one is "could still happen", and one is "almost definitely going to happen." He's on his 4th phone interview with them so they MUST like him alot. Phone interview today at 12:30, phone interview tonight or tomorrow night with the guy who initially referred him, and then all-fingers-and-everything-possible-crossed, an in-person interview next Friday. (This means a flight, which they'll pay for, thank God.)
So, I know for a fact (okay, a 90% probability) that I'm going to have to resign my job in 2 weeks or so anyway, and I'm standing outside of work talking with a co-worker when the owner pulls up looking like Don Johnson in Miami Vice. Convertible top down, unfashionable sunglasses, bad hair, and music blaring. Co-worker goes in after saying a short "mornin." I'm left standing there with a full cigarette and nothing to say to owner.
Owner has several interviews coming up to hire someone to finally, after six months, replace the guy that left when I started my job. This guy was supposed to take some of the slack off of boss, and he did - then he left, and I took the slack off as best as I could. Boss tells me he's going to want to get together with me and talk about where I see my career with [insert company name here] going because it's going to affect his hiring decision. I'm trying to smoke this cigarette real fast. I mean, think about it.
How am I going to answer this? I can't outright tell him I'm going to be resigning in two weeks. He thinks I'm there for the long haul. (I did, too, when I first started.) I start hyperventilating and getting dizzy and so I put my cigarette out and hang on to the door handle, half-way in the building, half-way out listening to him ramble. Don't I look BUSY??? He finally let me go.
So. This happens to be a Friday. This also happens to be the last day of work for another of my co-workers. We'll call him AOL. So, AOL had a really unfortunate time after giving his three-weeks of notice. The boss's boss/wife who owns the company came down cruelly and harshly on the guy. He asked for his PTO balance of five days and from there things just went way south. She turned psycho-bitch on him. I felt so bad for the guy. His wife had just lost her job, too.
(God. The phone just rang and I answered it and had to quick stop myself from saying "Thank you for calling [insert company name here], this is Decaf. How may I help you?" DUH.)
So. It's last day of work for AOL and even though the owner has been a mighty cruel wench, her husband has decided that he's going to buy lunch for everyone and I have to take orders and call it in. What is this? A fucking celebration??? AOL walked in and I asked him what kind of lunch he wanted - Italian or Chinese? I felt really stupid. Like I was asking him what he wanted for his last meal on death row. He went with Italian, so that's what everyone got. Anyway, so I'm really anxious by this point and had a hard time calling the lunch order in.
I kept thinking about sitting upstairs in a conference room with those guys, everyone knowing AOL's been treated terribly and would probably rather being sticking pins beneath his fingernails than be sitting there eating lunch with everyone. I keep picturing it.
My thoughts, once again, turned to how they're going to treat ME when I resign, which I know I'm going to do soon. Hyperventilating began to get worse at this point.
Well, I passed that invisible line where a panic attack is in your mind to where your adrenal gland opens up and fire-hoses adrenaline into your bloodstream. That was it. I called Venti, told him to get there fast, and he did. 12 minutes. I wrote a note on a yellow sticky note that said "Suddenly very ill." and ran out to the car. I swallowed a xanax and cursed the little blue fucker for not working immediately. Who has sixty-minutes to feel like that when they're sure they're going to die in 1 minute? Oh, and does the panic come in waves? Uhm...YES. It was fucking awful. I had taken 2mg of xanax by the time I started telling Venti to dial 911. I didn't know what they'd do for me because in the back BACK back of my mind I knew the panic would pass, but I didn't know what to do.
He opted for driving me to the ER. Once I got there I managed to walk in and get taken care of. My blood pressure and pulse were fine, my heart was fine, however [shocker] I was having a major panic attack. The nurse talked to me about her panic attacks and calmed me down. By this time the xanax had gotten into my system, finally. I was no longer panicking, but I was incredibly tired and just wanted to leave. 45 minutes later the doctor came in and told me I'd had a panic attack and gave me some immediate-release Klonopin in case it happened again. I'm scared to take them.
So, I get to go and see Dr. Decaf on Friday because now I'm just panicking every day. I'm going to get on something. I don't know what. Probably, in all likelihood, Lexapro. It's worth a shot. I know my neice didn't gain weight on it, and she also drinks alcohol while taking it. I haven't had a drink in almost three fucking years!!! Do you KNOW what I'd do for a margarita? Just one big-ass margarita on a hot summer day on my deck???
Anyway...so I quit for many reasons...
- Panic attack on Friday because the owner of the company was an total jerk to a co-worker over his quitting.
- Knowing I'd be quitting soon and scared shitless about how they'd treat me.
- Moving to Seattle in a month or so.
- I missed my kids. Alot.
I'm scared about moving. We'll be driving 3,000 miles. I keep thinking about Montana and South Dakota and how they go on forever, and what if, what if, what if, I have a major panic attack out there in the middle of Home on the Range? Thus, the trip to Dr. Decaf on Friday. I'm not so scared about actually living in Washington and not having any friends around. I don't know anyone here, so it's no big deal. I am nervous about Venti working across the water - hours away if I need him. This terrifies me more than anything. Thus, the trip to Dr. Decaf on Friday.
So. Now that I'm a SAHM again I don't remember how this whole thing works, and I'm trying to remember what the shit is that I'm supposed to be doing every day. It's coming back like a brick through the window as I hear Short Decaf saying MORE SHREK MORE SHREK MORE SHREK. That's right. I'm supposed to put DVDs in and make sure all kids are fed, clean, and get mental stimulation. Then there's a big-ass house that needs to be taken care of. I don't believe that SAHMs don't get money - a paycheck - from the government. This is a bitch of a job.
Oh, I did something smart last night. Woot! Score one for me! Venti had a question on his phone interview. It was a "Microsoft question." Whatever the hell that is. So you've got a windowless room with three lights in it, one door, and you are outside the room and can only go in once. How can you definitively tell which lightswitch goes to which light? I got it pretty fast. Dave said the guy on the phone interview said not to feel bad because nobody gets it. hehe. The answer is touch the lightbulbs - the definitive switch is pinpointed by flipping the first switch for five minutes, the second switch for a few seconds, and the third one not at all - then go in the room and feel the lightbulb.
One problem with that answer - I had to wonder if you could write on the switchplate so that you could remember which one you left on for five minutes. That's the shit I always fuck up. Yeah, I can get the answer - but I fuck up those little details all the time. That's me. Tard.
I learned almost nothing new at my job which I just quit. I can use PowerBuilder and SQL something or other. Use in a very limited fashion, but use non-the-less. I also now type a constant 100 wpm +.
Well, this brings us pretty much up to date.
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