Hold the Hoo

Wooo-

I am half out. Yesterday was my final day as a desk jockey in an obscure corner of the mental health system. But I still need to go back in and make sure I've got copies of my stuff for my CV and that there are copies of all my reports out for the next guy (though it will probably be a girl - males are a rare and endangered species there). Yay for Saturday.

Farewell was kind of awkward and pointless. As usual you get a card signed by the couple of people who will actually miss you, a couple of people who can't wait to see the back of you but want to look nice and a whole lot of people who have no bloody clue who you are. Most people didn't come of course. "Nick Spindle? Who the fuck's that? What cake are they having? Ehh, sponge, call me when someone's having a mudcake."

Well that's the end of two years, eleven months and one week. We can say three years. Three years, six bosses, and so many coworkers (each with a cake and card I wrote something trite on) that I can't even remember all their names. It was a lot to pack up - especially as there were three years of work that mostly didn't go anywhere. All the junk - the reports that no one ever read, the plans that were never implemented, all the records of liaison between two people who didn't give a shit, the books and books of notes... it was like that scene in the Shining where she finds her husband's novel and sees that it just says "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy all work and no..." over and over. Except in this case, it was me who had been writing it.

Archived. Deleted. Shredded. Handballed. Get rid of it any way you can.

- HOOOOOOOOO!