>Nothing more exhilarating than giving a “two-weeks notice” to a job you just don’t love anymore.

Of course, one must deal with the inevitable psychological syndrome known as, “whadd’re they gonna do…fire me?”.

Nice attitude, eh? I thought so.

Hangin’ in the PJ’s again, while Duke is trying to lick my feet. Ew. Bad dog.

So new job starts this week…server job, Monday-Friday, 10am-4pm (lunch shift). The most amazingly rare yet idyllic schedule in food service ever. In a very, very nice restaurant with $80 lobster and an impressive wine list. Good times will be had. I can actually sleep in with my husband on a weekend without putting a request in two weeks in advance, signed in triplicate, notarized, sealed in a vault in Bulgaria then shipped to management via African Swallow.

And no more waking up at bloody 4:30 in the morning. Bliss.

I’m off to bed. I had a 2-hour training session which included bouncing a 6-lb medicine ball off a wall, catching it, squat, throw, bounce, catch, squat, in 5 sets of 20.

I will indeed be in pain tomorrow morning. So off to bed I go.

Voulez-voulez-vous lactic acid.

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