Time off

Okay, I've got six months off, they jumped at it, said they were very pleased I wasn't leaving. Yeah, right. Pleased not to have the recruitment costs, more likely. I have to work for a month for my boss, in November. I got back, if I go back at all, on April 1st, I thought it was, kind of, fitting.

It's not nearly as adrenaline pumping as quitting and walking out, but I can always do that in six months. No, it wouldn't be quite the same, I grant you, although it would, ultimately, have the same effect.
Okay, this is the soft option. Safe. Yes, safe. I took the soft option. I know, I rail against safe. Call me a marshmallow, see if I care. Stick you hands in your armpits and wave your elbows about whilst clucking, it, actually, becomes you.
What do I care, in a few weeks I'll be able to do anything I want. Get up? Sleep in? Breakfast in the Fitzroy Gardens? I already have a growing pile of books I want to read.
Bye, bye salt mines!