I am all over the place with this one. On Friday, I gave Crazy my letter of resignation. I gave her two weeks notice and planned on saying sayonara on August 15, 2008. I had wrapped my brain around this and was finally comfortable with the decision. I had made peace with resigning. Which may seem surprising as I have bitched and moaned about this place for the last six years, so you'd think I would be turning cartwheels at the idea of leaving, but not so much. I'm okay with leaving Lady Bean in day care. I don't think day care is evil and your child will be screwed up for life. I like working, though not necessarily at my current job, and the thought of not working, well, it was a bit nauseating. Also, I love my daughter to bits but spending twenty-four/seven with her (or anyone)? Also a bit nauseating. But whatever, I got over it and was ready to move on. Stay-at-home-mommyness, here I come. But, considering I work where I work and with the people I work with, it should come as no surprise that I couldn't actually outright resign. NOTHING IN THIS PLACE IS STRAIGHTFORWARD.
I feared that once I gave my notice, I was going to get kicked out of the door on the spot and not be eligible for our bonus. Or, maybe Crazy would be all crazy and how-dare-you-leave-after-all-I-have-done-for-you and the last two weeks would be pure torture. But this is not what I got. No, I got a oh-no-I-am-going-to-miss-you-what-will-we-do-without-you-can-you-work-part-time-for-a-little-longer-while-we-replace-you-we'll-pay-you-lots-more. Yes, in case you got lost in that run-on sentence, I was asked to work part-time at a decent hourly rate, a rate better than what I make now, for an extra two weeks. Even though I was told I couldn't work part-time EVER, AT ALL, when I was setting up my maternity leave and at that time I was only asking for a few weeks part-time at my current el-cheapo salary rate. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
Initially I was thinking all NO, FUCK NO, I AM NOT DOING THAT. I planned to quit and quitting I will be. But then I learned that my COBRA insurance was going to be well over five hundred dollars a month (To which I replied, "The hell? I'm the young one. The one that had the baby, not the near death experience. The healthy one. ARE YOU LOOKING AT THE RIGHT PERSON'S RATE?" And was told, "Yes. I am looking at you. Suck it."). So now I am all conflicted.
I could work three hours a day, several days a week, for two weeks and pay my COBRA for the time I will need it and maybe even have a few bucks left over to feed my addiction. Heck, I might even be able to feed my other addiction and buy some yarn (yah, yah, I don't need it, whatever) for Mystery Stole 4. I'd even get to knit during the day since my home time would be during the long afternoon nap (oh knitting how I miss thee). But then I would STILL BE HERE. I busted my ass and cashed in all sorts of favors to make things work out child care wise to get us to August 15, which now would seem somehow lame, like I am a big whiner crying all "I just need to get to August 15" when in fact August 15 is now a regular day of no import. Not that I would need to tap anyone else, in order to make this work, Boo would swoosh his schedule around (yet again for like the eleventygillionth time). But I would be missing him on the days I do work since we would be passing like two ships in the night. There is also the chance that Crazy would find out I am looking at a real part-time job. I did tell her I am looking for something part-time but I forgot to mention that I was looking right now and that the job I have my eye on is the part-time version of one that she applied for and did not get. So that could be bad. Real bad. The job is a political appointment and she could, well, I dunno, she could do something and that something would be bad. But even as I type this drivel, I think, asshole, you want to work part-time, so what's the real downside? Crazy? Dealing with jailbirds? Actually having to work?