It may just be a reaction to the overhype of the royal weeding, or perhaps a bit of confusion over who chose whom in the NFL draft (and figuring my Packers tryed unsuccessfully to trade down in to the 2nd round in their spot), but the strangeness of it all is finally hitting me.
Desk: empty save some folders and the soon to be surrendered craptop.
Fridge: all traces of me gone (except one leftover box with explicit instructions to be passed on to a specific coworker upon my departure)
Cubicle: my name has been replaced with a number. I'm no longer "Steve Pearson," I'm in "Cubicle 8."
Paperwork signed, I's dotted, T's crossed. And then...?
Who knows?
I have been productive. Not for the company. But I've dropped a few more resumes, cleaned up any remaining stuff that needs cleaning on my computer, and am basically just waiting for my wife to show up so we can go out to dinner tonight.
For those of you that are wondering, yes, I am a little teary eyed. Lump in my throat. No, I haven't been terribly happy here the last couple of years but it still means an end. Yes, a beginning too, although beginning of what I don't know. Nobody does.
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