The countdown begins - 33 DAYS

After today, I have thirty-three days left in my "sentence" and will be paroled to my new office space, deo gracia. I spent the last week on vacation, trying to spend unused vacation time before I'm forced to surrender it on the altar of the "new job"...

Funniest (i.e. saddest) thing? Co-worker that sits next to me EIGHT HOURS A DAY has not said one single word to me about the move. Nothing. Not a "good for you", "kiss my tuckus", "don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out"... zippo, zero, zilch. I actually brought it up in conversation 2 weeks ago to try and open her up a little bit. Nada. No input whatsoever.

This attitude is largely what has me counting the hours, days and minutes till freedom. I feel like finding a convenient bell-tower, grabbing the ropes and swinging wildly, shouting, "SANCTUARY!! SANCTUARY!!!" Until the new year (both literal & metaphoric), I've committedto maintaining dignity, taking care of business, dotting I's and crossing all T's, continuing to cross-train the other staff to take over the piddley stuff (read here: which they were trained to do ages ago and passive-aggressively refused to master, causing me to take on said tasks), and go out with style.