I’m just a rebel like that.

I haven’t finished my book yet (I’ll try not to let this become a habit), and my laptop is going wonky again, so today is going to be journal day… due to the fact that I have to use my parents’ computer which is in their room and dad’s currently sleeping behind me. I can’t blog at midnight any  more. But that’s not really what I’m thinking about right now.

Today, I gave my two weeks’ notice.

I haven’t been happy with my job… well… ever… but in the last few months it’s become a source of major stress. Not because the workplace itself is bad, nor even because my co-workers are drama queens- they’re not. But the job and I… don’t really get along. I’m not a retail person. I love working with customers. I hate cashiering.

Bigger than that, though, was that the paycheck was rarely worth it, and that job was not taking me anywhere. It wasn’t helping me save up for things I needed or wanted, it wasn’t helping me further my hoped-for career as an author, and it sure as heck wasn’t going to give me enough money to go to Ireland someday. I love my co-workers dearly, but… oh, the job wasn’t worth it.

Not when it caused me to lose my emotions solely because I didn’t want to work, or had been overworked. Not when it took away my ability to worship my God in church and took away my day of rest completely.

For a while, I felt like I was just trying to make excuses to quit- like I was just a wuss and I needed to suck it up and work and not complain. To be happy that I had a job at all,  even though most paychecks only gave me eighty dollars every two weeks. I felt like my emotional upsets due to work were… childish. That me being happy and the job should coexist, and I should find a way to make it happen.

But I realized today that working there had interfered with my life and my emotions so much that on the days I had to work, I got upset at my family  and I was pretty much just irritated all day. And any job that makes me cry is not a job worth having. Unless those tears are tears of happiness.

Which is possible. I do cry a lot.

So I gave my two weeks’ notice, with the support of my parents and my friends, and now…?

I want to work on my books. I didn’t quit to write, because that would be a very stupid thing to do. Quitting to focus on my writing is the last thing on the list of why I quit. In fact, it’s not even on my list. But now that I’m quitting, I’m going to write. I’m going to treat my writing as though it is my job, and devote the time to it that I should.

If another job comes along that I’m interested in, I won’t hesitate to take it.  But my main focus is going to be finishing a novel and publishing that novel.

So that’s life right now. I have two more weeks- heavily scheduled weeks- of work, and then I will be free. Free to pursue my dreams, and not be stuck in a job that I dislike for a paycheck that doesn’t pay for anything.

I feel so liberated. So relieved to have this decision finally made and done with. I should have given my notice at the turn of the new year.  I’m so happy!

I’d better go before dad kicks me out. 😉


P.S. I have no idea what the title of this blog is referring to. Either not finishing my book on schedule, or quitting because I’m unhappy with my job? I don’t know.