Death of a Saleswoman

Now that I've finally put it behind me, the corporate world, I feel like myself again. Okay, trite, yes. But I lay in bed last night, and I remembered who I am, and it's not the bitter, apathetic, snarky bitch I was in the office.

Well maybe I'm a little bit of that, but certainly not 100% of the time. Sometimes I need to sit. And think. And read. Mull it all over, roll it, pat it, bake it -- incubate it for days. I have that time again.

No more beeping copy machines demanding its toner be emptied, no more print cartridges exploding all over my pants, no more uncomfortable shoes or cardigans. And no, I still don't know how to use the color scanner.

At the end of the day I won't leave that cubical with the peace desk, and the giant white board, and the deadlines circled red on it. Starting Monday, and I hope everyday for the next hundred years, I get to "leave the office" feeling not like a tool.

The money is nice, 401k is intriguing, health insurance is definitely necessary -- but there are ways around all of that to get to where I wanted so badly to be.