"Sabbatical From Work"

The title is in quotes because in a certain way, I have been on sabbatical from work since I quit my job at a publishing company back in '95. Many would argue that working in the service industry is as "real" of an occupation as could be imagined and for the most part I would argue that too. Except for the fact that I've been able to eschew such real world responsibilities as retirement planning, long-term disability insurance and having to go to bed before 3am. Much to my detriment, I might add, but that's another story.

In any case, many have been wondering what in fact I have been doing for employment for the past four months. The short answer is, not much. I've been working part-time (2.25 days per week) as a bartender at a local Golf Club. It certainly is work in an economical sense; being that my labor = a value at which I should be compensated = I can go buy some food and stuff from time to time. Believe it or not, I rather miss the frenzied calls for fifteen Car Bombs that I've railed against so often in the past. These Country Club folk can come across as so proper and well-mannered! But, it's not a challege to be paralled with, say, other things I am facing in my life at this time.

Yet in a very short period of time I've grown quite fond of both my fellow employees, and all their idiosynchrasies; and also the members, and all of their idiosynchrasies. For instance, I finally learned just today that one particular member, when he asks for "vodka" means "Grey Goose" ALWAYS and another who always wants his drinks in a pint glass or "go" cup and wants nothing whatsoever to do with the glass that at this club is used for a highball. This is great knowledge to have; should I actually need it in the future. But today was my last shift at the Golf Club. Though none other than my immediate manager knew it. It's kind of the way this thing worked out. I didn't think my departure required much fanfare, as I was still the new kid. And there was none of the typical "last day" activities surrounding it (cake, Jaeger Bombs, etc.). It was a quiet bow out to a short chapter of my life that one day might be reopened.

I have to admit that the chef unknowingly made a delicious departing meal this evening. He asked if I liked fresh tuna. I abstained from asking him that if by the word, fresh, he meant it was swimming in the Atlantic just yesterday afternoon, because I've grown accustomed to my husband's deep sea fishing excursions in the past and ...
well it was delectable in any case, accompanied by some whipped/mashed red skinned potatoes and grilled zucchini that had been plucked from its vine just this afternoon. There may or may not have been a secret scrumptious dessert later. I'll never tell.

Now it's finally time for me to start concentrating on the severity and depth of my surgery, what with the final day of work obligation behind me, coupled with the previous week of "nesting" activity. I have been cleaning the house like a mother hen, preparing my abode for the new arrival. That being, the new and improved, cancer-free me, I guess.
In the past few days I've decided that 40 is a very good middle point in life. Not that 80 is the end mind you, but I decided that everything I've lived up until this point is simply the FIRST half of my life. I've made some rotten choices and some excellent ones. But it was all just prelude to the NEXT chapter of my life; which will kick the shit out of the previous one.
Cheers!