Today, I did an amazing thing: I quit my job.
This is amazing to me for two reasons: One, it’s very difficult in this economy to find a job at all. (So for those of you still looking, you can have mine. Go to www.vangent.com and search the openings.) Two, quitting a job isn’t something I thought I’d ever do.
This decision wasn’t done lightly. After all, I’ve got three other people besides myself to consider. But after one nervous breakdown, throwing up, and struggling this morning with the strong desire to simply drive away and not return, I decided I needed to put my own health, physical and mental, as a higher priority than EFAST2.
Thus, after praying, and talking it over with Chris on the phone, I quit my position as a customer service representative this morning. Since then, I’ve felt immeasurably better, as though I set down a huge rock that I had decided I had to carry around.
Now, of course, I need to find a new job. In this economy, that won’t be easy. However, I do have an interview tomorrow morning, and I put in two more applications today. So at this moment, I’m hopeful.
This change has been preceded and followed by other changes.
This afternoon, I wrote an email to the GM of the Sunday afternoon D&D game I play in, and let him know that I would be leaving that game. The reasons aren’t important, but doing so frees up my Sunday afternoons, giving me more time with the girls, and more time to work on my various projects.
And that leads me to my final section here: Yet again, I am pondering making noticeable changes to Adrian.
When I started this latest version, The Apocalypse of Adrian Reinhardt, I decided to make Adrian as much like me as possible so I could better identify with him, and be able to truly explore what my own feelings would be.
However, there’s a side effect to doing that I hadn’t predicted: As much like me as possible means that Adrian also suffers from depression. He’s been exploring it, just as I have. This makes him depressing, and both easy and difficult to write. Easy because he’s writing what I know; difficult because writing about it means thinking about being depressed.
I’m not entirely certain this is healthy. It could be, as a means of getting more to the root of why I am like I am. It could also be detrimental; I could easily wind up dwelling on the matter, not moving forward.
So again, I wonder if I should make changes to him yet again. Again change the story, try something else.