Thursday, 7 June 2018


Yesterday I left the job I have been doing for three years, hereafter "job 1", in order to move onto that which the more Romantic among us may term as "pastures new", but the more realistic would term "a new job, which isn't as fun, but pays more and is probably less bureaucratic and micromanaged, and anyway, ILB could do with the money, as he is fed up of eating cardboard to survive".

I wasn't sure how to feel about leaving my old job. I was expecting tears, but they didn't come. I handed out cards, finished a fair amount of paperwork, and said goodbye to clients who probably felt more upset than I did. With a few exceptions (including this blog), my job has been one of the few constants that have been there during my last few years. Inflexible and irritating occasionally, perhaps, but always solidly, dependably present - as was I while doing it - and, perhaps crucially, it was in the industry that suits me. I liked the basic aspect of the job, and I will miss it. 

My new job - job 3 -  doesn't quite have the same responsibilities. It's still a fairly responsible job, insofar as I am responsible for some fairly important stuff and the clients have to trust me with their personal affairs (not that type of affairs - what is this, Ashley Madison?), but it isn't the same job. I'm even keeping the door open to job 2 so I can do occasional days there now and then and not feel like I've left that entire world behind me.

It's not that I hate my new job, either. It's deceptively relaxed. It looks difficult - in fact, read the job description and it looks like a bit of a killer - but it genuinely is quite relaxed. If I can go to a shift that starts at 3pm, do a couple of hours of genuine work and spend the rest of the time tuning musical instruments, sitting in a quiet room catching up on rest, or watching Love Island on the TV in the main room - and get paid for it - then I'm all right with how things stand.

Famous last words, I know.

Yesterday afternoon, as I left the building for probably the last time (although I will have to go back to collect pay), I didn't feel anything, except for "uncomfortably numb". I called my dad on the way to the bus stop, but wasn't even sure what to say. I'm not sure anyone was. I didn't know how to feel; I still don't.

Also, one of my new colleagues has massive tits and isn't even bothering to attempt to hide them. So there's that.

Anything to lower the tone, ILB. Tsk, tsk.

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