I Took My Job & I Shoved It

For years I've been a bread winner.  I have fought the good fight.  I needed some dough, so I kneaded some dough (don't worry, it gets better).

Too many times I have walked into an environment that has made me feel small, depressed and physically ill, so that I could provide for the family unit.  No more. 

Seriously, it hurt me.

It is no secret that I was not happy at my job.  It was something that I couldn't help but share, less it tear me up inside.  This did not mean I wasn't good at what I did.  In fact, I was great.

I was just unhappy.

The workplace didn't work.  There was no sense of pride, gratitude or respect.  Rather, I was a walking statistic on a meaningless assembly line.  Had this led to some sort of team mentality, then perhaps I would have survived, but it led nowhere.  Basically, it was communism.  The Stalin kind.  Me, I tend to lean towards the Grouchos of Marxism rather than the Karls.

Why was I there for 8 years?  Good question.  I suppose I was able to look past the fact that I often felt like breaking down and crying (it's okay for men to cry, Spiderman does it all the time), because I had a schedule of my own creation and the money was decent.  Those things have changed, and now eight is enough.

First, the money tree shriveled up.  In fact the only thing still falling from it is the slow trickle of urine from the constant bombardment of neighborhood dogs.  It has no money, no apples, no branches.  Soon it will be but a stump and some old guy will sit on it, and hopefully he and the tree will be happy.  That, however, does not put cash in my pocket.

Then the powers that be decided that my schedule, built around my children as it was, was no longer a viable option.  For them.  No longer would I be allowed to have the comfort of knowing that my children would be cared for in a manner that I was comfortable with.  This, of course, broke a back, and since I don't know any camels, it was mine that snapped.

I put in my notice. It was a moment that I've dreamed of, but without the shouting and fisticuffs that I had envisioned.  Instead it was a slip of paper and a nod.  It worked all the same.

The downside to this sudden feeling of freedom and relief is that my income has been drastically compromised.  In fact, it's all but gone.  My wife is not exactly ecstatic.

I should have planned an escape route, had my pod ready for launch.  I didn't. Sometimes you just have to say "what the fuck."

What the fuck.

Now I'm in a place I haven't been in a long time, happy, free and looking for some bread so I can kick it's ass.  You know, for the kids. 

Which way to the bakery?