Someone shoot that rooster

Well, I did it. I quit my weekend job. It was getting to be too much, what with my fancy weekday job rubbing elbows with the guv-nah and assorted other officials. Plus, as the Pretend Husband pointed out, it's kind of ridiculous to continue to pay that company for the privilege of driving up there and working for them (I still contend I came out ahead... a little... but he does have a point).

So, I gave four weekends notice and come July, I will have two whole days off a week. Yee-haw! I'm not sure I'm going to know what to do with myself since it's been over a year since I've had a whole weekend off (well, except for assorted ones like, oh, my honeymoon... but you know what I mean). It's nice to be able to plan trips away, projects around the house (and no, we haven't sold our house yet... and yes, I'm a little sensitive that the house down the street that needs tons more work than ours sold first) and other such activities. I'm not sure I'm going to know what to do with so much time.

And there will be, of course, some major sleeping in on that first Saturday that I don't have to get up at 4 a.m. on. Yup, 4 a.m. It's amazing how much I've aged in a year because it didn't hurt this bad when I started this job (and until a few months ago, it included getting up at 5 a.m. on Sunday too!) The last couple Saturdays have been a little rough on the ol' body.

I imagine this is going to be one of those jobs that years from now, when I'm on the radio full-time, I can talk about as my initiation. "I got up at 4 a.m.-- no, 2 a.m.-- and walked 15-- no, 25 miles-- in the snow to work, where I cranked the handle to get the station on the air and walked to all the police departments in a 10-mile radius to collect the news and stayed on the air for 14 hours to make sure people knew what was going on." Or something like that.