And so this chapter of my employment comes to a close, not with a bang but a whimper. With one hour left in my last day, I'm finally preparing for the next step, the part that makes me either the best dad in the world or a lazy freeloader, depending on your outlook.

I started working when I was 18, fresh out of high school and recognizing the need for both a few extra bucks and a sense of personal responsibility. None particularly lasted -- the longest I managed to stay employed with any one gig was just over two years. Either they come to the end of a fixed term, or I leave them for something that pays more, or I am unceremoniously asked to leave. At last count, I came up with something like twelve or thirteen jobs in my twelve years of employed life.

This is the first time I'm leaving a job of my own accord without knowing where my next paycheck will come from.

And I couldn't be more excited.

After all, my new boss might be sort of a crybaby, but at least she can't fire me. And she is the cutest girl on the planet, so that keeps things tolerable.