The reality has hit. I quit both of my jobs for my trip to Yellowstone.
Happy dance. Happy dance.
I am officially an unemployed social worker. Of course there is my future employment as a room attendant at the Old Faithful Inn.
Is this a lateral move?
The number one job I quit was at the nursing home for behavior problems.
They would wear these outfits in a heart beat.
I'll miss them more than I care to admit.
Where else could I work where my behavior was considered normal?
The number two job was as a Hospice social worker.
We're always called "special people."
They don't know me very well, do they?
That's retail Judy in her medical uniform store.
If you've worked retail, you'll know that there's worse things than being a social worker.
So I came home from work and put my feet up for a little outdoor relaxation.
Those are white socks, not my skin, by the way. There really isn't much difference if you have to know.
Wait. Something is missing.
You have to have port by an open fire.
Here's the fire or what's left of the fire.
The only thing missing is a fine cigar.
I'm leaving it all behind for a chance to see this in person.
I can always find a social work job (oh please don't make me,) but I may never have a chance to see Yellowstone again.
I'll take my chances on that social work job.