if these walls could talk...

...they'd be saying, "Yo, there are termites here."

Termites. In our new house. Nothing makes you itch more than grabbing a piece of sheet rock and watching little moving bugs crawling all over the place.

Blecch.

That might set us back a few days. Exterminator has been called.

The last week has been kinda crazy.

Friday was my last day of work. You know how sometimes when you're leaving a job, you get to your last week, you gets pangs of sadness, you feel rejuvenated with your job and you're like, "Hmph. Maybe this job isn't so bad, after all."

That SO did NOT happen to me.

Instead, my last week was like a shit-storm. First off, when I gave my 2-week notice to my boss he was all like, "Can you stay longer?"

And I was all like, "Yeaaaah, I already committed to a start date."

And he came back with, "Why don't you check and get back to me?"

And I replied meekly, "Yeaaah, I already told them."

And, of course, his reply was, "Okay. You'll check and let me know if you stay with us a little longer."

Finally I said, "Next Friday is my last day of work. No more."

I mean, really? If THAT conversation wasn't a perfect example of why I needed to get the ef outta there, nothing was. I can't even QUIT in peace.

THEN, during my last week, the shit hit the fan. The clients were going crazy, making ridiculous demands and just being asshats.

Friday night after drinks, I took the train home. I'm sure I looked like I was just fired. I was carrying a box with a plant and my belongings, tipsy and sad.

Hard to believe 5 years fits into one box. And a fist bump from my boss.