Saturday, April 29, 2017

Flamingos and Palm Trees

So. Life changed a lot since that last entry.

I decided that the situation that I was questioning wasn’t being blown out of proportion by the bipolar and was an actual situation that required an actual response.

I hadn’t felt like I fit in at my old job since I started. I answered to the Controller, but worked for the Service Manager. The org chart made absolutely no sense and the conflicts between service and accounting got worse. I was constantly stuck in the middle of situations I shouldn’t have been in simply because I was in the middle of the two departments. It’s no way to work.

Of course, once I gave my notice, my position was changed to answer to the Service Manager. Apparently, the same conversation I’ve been having for TWO YEARS was finally heard and acknowledged. There’s other drama involved, too, but none of it affected me as directly as this limbo I was in.

I submitted a few resumes… and several weeks later, I got a job offer I couldn’t turn down. I uprooted my entire life and moved to Florida. If you know me at all, you know that Florida is the very last place in the US that I would want to live. BUT. Apparently, I can be bought with a nice title and a decent salary.

I’m not going to name drop, because I don’t want people finding me (hello, bipolar entries!), but there is only one job worthy of that kind of move. Besides, if we’re friends on Facebook, you already know. It’s not been a big secret over there.

I got the offer on the 7th. They wanted me to start on the 17th, but I pushed it to the 24th. I spent those two weeks meeting with Realtors, getting quotes from moving companies and working full time.

On the 22nd, I packed everything I could fit into my car and headed to Southern Florida. I got here on Sunday around 1 PM, moved in the pouring rain and started work on that Monday.

When I do things, it’s certainly go big or go home.

My furniture is somewhere on the Eastern Seaboard. My husband is still in New Hampshire.

I’ve got an air mattress, a chair, and a small table. I have a stool for the kitchen island.

I’m living in a fucking bachelor pad.

On a related note, I had applied for a job with this company back in 1997. I still have my rejection letter, so I’m framing that and putting it in my cube. 

Good things happen if you’re persistent and willing to take huge risks… like I said, there are some jobs you can’t say to, no matter how crazy accepting the offer makes your life.

Florida doesn’t yet feel like home, but once the husband is down here and the house is sold, it will be much, much, better.

Until then, I think I’ll go hang out with Eddie the Alligator.

(That’s a real alligator, by the way. He lives in the canal next to my office and he’s been seen so often one of my coworkers named him.)