Seven Ways of Going

I was about 900 words in, when I decided that there is no need for a thesis statement in a letter of resignation for a freelance, entry-level position. The guilt I feel for leaving my current job is wholly unnecessary but for some reason I feel like I'm breaking up with a long-term boyfriend. It's not you, it's me; I'm not ready for this kind of commitment.

Enough of that garbage. I can have a heart of mold sometimes and this state of remorse will fade as soon the health benefits and Summer Hours of my new job start rolling my way. So I trimmed the e-mail down to an economical twenty-five words, keeping the subject line brief and to the point: Resignation.

As for you, dear blahg, I think we will have to take a brief hiatus from one another. In this case, it is you, not me. I'm not sure of exactly what I will be doing in my new position but I'm almost positive that I'm heading into a bona fide cubicle farm and I can't sit there, stealing hits of myspace and whatnot, while my co-workers are milling round the water cooler, eating soggy tuna salad sandwiches and discussing their mortgage payments. I just don't think that would be very professional.

And finally, New York, you've been a good remedy for somebody as hopelessly peripatetic as myself but I'm taking the Amtrak to Montreal tonight, where I will be spending the weekend with another city. I am clearly still mad about you, New York, so consider this a fling and nothing more.

I may not be the most consistent motherfucker around but I am loyal and when I find something that suits me, I stick to it. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm quite smitten with you, New York, and I think we have a good thing going, I really do.

Over and Out,
Toby