It was supposed to be easier than this- Pt. 7

The next two days were days off on my work schedule.  Normally, I would have filled them with errands or a good day of hunting geocaches. Instead, I sat and stared at the blinds on the window contemplating my future.  At my current pace I would be losing my house and living on the street. I knew the latter would not happen thanks to the kindness and love of family and friends. Still though, living in a cardboard box haunted my visions. 

The two days weren’t completely wasted. I managed to get some laundry done. I brushed my teeth.  I ate.

Thursday was my first day back to work after the lost weekend.  As per usual, I got in early enough to have a cup of coffee and to converse with a couple other old-timers before our shift started. They asked how I was and if everything was okay. For the first time, I didn’t play it off.  I opened up about how much it pained me to come into work.  They were cool about it and didn’t push the issue. One of them asked me if I was going to quit. He and I had been holding daily bitch sessions about work and how we needed to get the hell out of there.  He sensed that the end, for me at least, was very close.

Fortunately for me I was working on a line that day that was making the easiest of products. It provided me with lots and lots of time to think about what I was going to do.  My friend from the break room came down to talk about what was going on throughout the day. We were trying to talk each other into quitting. 

A few hours into the day my decision was made.  I had to quit.  Quitting was, at the very least, my first step to beating this depression I was going through. It was obvious to me that staying there was going to drive me goofy.  I formulated a plan that was probably the worst for me as far as my long term future was concerned. 

My plan was to turn in a two-week notice and withdraw money from my retirement plan.  I would take six months off from work and devote myself to my dream of writing. Friends and family had been after me for years to do it.  They believed in me more than I did, telling me over and over that I am a good writer and that it would be a waste of talent to not do so.  Part of me believed that. A bigger part was filled with doubt. 

With my new plan formulated, I said a prayer to God to somehow let me know that this was the right thing to do. Immediately I felt a great relief, as if the weight of the world was lifted from my shoulders. It was exactly as my former coworkers had all described!

Half an hour later I was in the break room feeling relieved about my future for the first time in weeks. Using my phone, I sent out a prayer request to my friends who would be of a mind to do so.  I didn’t explain why it was needed.  Some of them probably knew enough to suss it out. The response came back quickly. The power of their prayers could be felt the rest of the day. It seemed that I was on the right path. 

As I headed back to my line I stopped to talk to my friend.  The grin on my face must have said it all.

“You’re doing it, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yep. Yes, I am.”

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