duck-shaped pain

Everything I wrote in the last entry is wrong. Or, to be more precise, everything I wrote about work in the last entry is wrong. Scary Big Project, while due to start this week, is in fact, starting in four weeks. Or six weeks. Or two months. Everyone's heard a different number. This is problematic, sort of. While it provides limited glimpses of relief for the month of December, let's not forget that I was planning to move my ass out of here in January, which could now well be a big problem.

My boss: "Hey, I can count on you to be here through the end of this, right?"

It took all I had not to bean him with one of the many geodes we have laying about the place.

I could stay to the end of it. I might be more inclined to do so if I knew when this mysterious "end" was. I could use the money. It would get me an even better reference. [1] But I'm really getting tired of being here in town, and if there's any more substantial delays in store, I might just pop one day, choose a new place to live by closing my eyes and pointing randomly at a map of the Southwest, [2] [3] and never be seen again. This is not an idle threat.

[1] Important when you have a history of randomly and spectacularly leaving jobs all of a sudden, as I do.

[2] Minturn, Colorado, anyone? How about Flagstaff, Arizona. Sure, I know I've more or less decided on moving back to Denver, but the idea of just picking a place at random still appeals to me.

[3] One could point out to me that there are many other possible parts of the country that I could move to. One would be correct. I prefer to keep this discussion in the realm of things that actually might happen, though.

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