I almost quit my job last week. I would have, but my management team decided they didn't want me to leave so found a solution that made everybody happy.
Well, almost happy. Once I got used to the idea, I was looking forward to not working. It would have been a little tough economically, but I'd have survived. I like to think I'm a surviving type of person. Not the type who falls apart at the first sign of adversity. I think God was giving me signs I should quit, urging me to walk away now so I'll have time to find myself before I'm so old I can't remember who I am. But I have trouble interpreting what God is trying to tell me sometimes. Maybe he was saying Get, while the getting's good, or maybe he was saying Cowgirl up and stop your whining.
I had all sorts of things planned for my newly found free time. Everything from sweeping the floor to finally cleaning out the closet-no-man-dares-to-enter to opening a used book store to writing a novel.
Now all those plans will have to wait. Except maybe sweeping the floor. I might find time to do that this weekend. But I'm not going near that closet.
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