I just cleaned out my desk at my soon-to-be-old job. First of all, it amazes me that folks are like, "You had a job-job? You didn't blog full time?"
Are you high? No, I didn't blog full time. Snarking around the internet doesn't usually come with medical. I've been working for six and a half years here. And this is my last week before I start...blogging full time.
Anyway, I'm cleaning out my desk which is packed with crap. I often surprise myself at what a chick I am. The layers of photos have created a cocoon around my computer, the top layer being the most recent. I'm like one of those troll dolls ladies. There's lots of girlfriends clinking cosmos.
I pulled them off this morning and tossed the save-ables in a shopping bag. As I got down to the third layer, I started to find ... well, my feelings can best be expressed by this:
I know, I know. Aside from all the schmaltz and crap I've managed to pin to a 2' x 3' piece of cork, I've been through a lot sitting at this desk, the desk that's been my desk since I was 25. And now all of it, the photos and the flower delivery cards and the birthday buttons and the ticket stubs are piled into a Banana Republic bag at my feet.
It feels weird. It feels good. And this trip down memory lane, thanks to my inability to throw anything remotely sentimental away, has been an emotional half hour that's now out of my system. But really, if I had to do it all over again, these photos and these cards and these birthdays and these tickets, I would.
Much to my delight, there's a whole new and empty piece of cork waiting for me at KPIX. Where I can start from scratch...