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March 12, 2010

>So the time is coming for me to officially announce that I’m leaving the restaurant I’ve been working at for about 16 months, and I’m scared. I know that I have to leave and that it’s just not where I want to be anymore, but I’m starting to freak a bit about the whole “not having a job” thing. Maybe I’ve made the wrong decision? Maybe I should wait?

I’ve always been really responsible and made “the right choices”, contrary to what some of my friends might think (not going to name names or anything, but some people seem to think that I’m a whole lot more “progressive” and “different” than I really have been in the past). With that in mind I’m thinking that the best way to move on to greener pastures, if you will-this being Manhattan and all, that doesn’t exactly apply–is to just walk away while I still have a good relationship with everyone at the restaurant, and while I have some extra money (we’re not talking drug dealing cash, heiress bank accounts or anything, but the bank account rape-ry that is my rent checks won’t go bouncing). I just feel like I’ve been restricting my potential by staying in the same place for too long and I need to shake things up.

All this being said, the temp agencies that I’ve interviewed at seemed more interested in me “getting famous” and “seeing [me] at the Oscars someday” than actually getting me temp work. Thanks for the support guys, but can you just throw me into an office a few days a week for now and we’ll cover the acceptance speeches later in the program? Come to think of it, maybe they’re all part of the plan (the “master plan” that is), and that plan leaves me broke and living off of peanut butter and tuna fish, losing 20 pounds and then getting a role on the next hit HBO show. So maybe I will thank them for not putting me in with the good, working people of New York City, but leaving me home on the couch watching old movies and eating ketchup soup….Or maybe I could use the cash.

Bottom line, I’m tired and nervous about this change. I’m also nervous for the half marathon I’m running next Sunday…I wish someone would pay me to do that. But I guess that’s why they call them “hobbies”. I don’t know, I call it my “run so much that you can eat whatever you want” plan. Okay, going to email myself some promising Craigslist postings while the Trader Joe’s frozen peas ice my aching feet. Goodnight blogland.

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