Tomorrow will be my last day at the job I’ve had for the past eight and a half years. Holy crap.

Bookkeeping? Not going to miss it. My coworkers? Yeah, I’ll be missing them.

I’m also leaving a place of security for a new, unknown place. This is not something I tend to do, so now I’m having a little freak out time because I don’t quite have all the new tasks down exactly the way they do it at the new place. I forgot how much I really, really don’t like to not have my shizznit together.

I also feel like I don’t have the new dynamic down. And I know the old one. I know who likes whom, and who isn’t a fan of which things, and now I have to remember to speak up when I talk to the one guy, and put the other guy’s mail in a certain place.

It’s also been fun working in the same office with my sister, mostly because that means I get to have all the unicorns I want and there’s someone else in the office who thinks farts are funny, too. New office? Yeah, no one there is the kind of person who laughs at farts, and it is definitely not unicorny.

There are so many pluses. More money, a couple of days working closer to home, and, above all else, learning new information about a different field. Also, no more accounting-firm-who-shall-remain-nameless. So, it’ll be good.

But I’m going to be a little sad to leave my work family tomorrow.

Ugh. More feelings. What. The. Hell.

Okay. I’m 40 now. Is it okay for me to openly curmudgeon now, or do I have to wait for 50 or something like that? There should be some kind of a rule book or something.

Or maybe I should write the rule book, since I’m the one who invented curmudgeoning.

You think your Grandpa did it better? You think your Great-Aunt Matilda was more curmudgeonly? I doubt it. My Grandpa Otis brought some serious game to the table, but I think I can beat him with my introversion.

Yep, introverted curmudgeons win every time, because even when they’re not grumpy, strangers think they are because they don’t talk.

Also, stay out of my yard.

So maybe I still need to work on it, but I’ve got time. I’m only 40, after all.

Hahahaha I am so old. Gross.

Okay. I’ve made it through the first two items on June’s trifecta of doom: The colonoscopy was fine, actually the easiest prep ever, and the biopsy came back fine, as well. The Memorial Service (in caps, because come on) was also fine.

It was a memorial. My Mom is gone. We made it through and that’s all I need to say about that.

Anyway, on to the upcoming weekend and the final item on my agenda of things that I’m not super pumped about: TURNING FORTY.

Gross.

But then I saw that Oil of Olay had this thing that tells you what age it thinks your skin is, and it told me mine was 36. So I can live in denial a bit longer, right? My skin hasn’t shriveled up into a prune yet, according to the internets, and that’s all that matters. I think...

...yep.

At any rate, the doom is almost come and gone, and then life will return to normal. Right? Sure.