hopskipjump time to fly away

like that, he hired me. grinned gentle liquid, said i impressed him, asked when i could start. good thing i combed my hair this morning.
this will be a weird transition. he finally told her we were "planning" to live together. not that, essentially, we are and have been for months. i wonder if that's evidence enough, if it's a topic even worth discussing. it will be a weird transition to just up and leave, but it will be so liberating, so refreshing to be doing things i want to be doing at my own pace, on my own time, for my own benefit. to be propelling, if slowly, forward. the time in between will be purgatory. i skipped out of his office, stumbled down the stairs and returned to my own, ready and raring to clean out my desk. but i must abide. at least for two months more.
everyone is so afraid, constantly, for me. there is so much doubt. why don't people realize that even if i left this job without another one in store the sun would rise tomorrow, the world would continue to spin and i would somehow scrape my shit together? i've always, always done it. and i always, always will. cobble things together to make a cocktail that looks messy, but functions just the same. it's the part of me he calls bootleg.
the part of me he calls crazy, says he loves and hates at once. that part that's the reason i'm in half this mess to begin with. and i should have let it loose a long time before i took this gig. i should have spread my wings a little further, not jumped as eagerly at the offer of health insurance and a pension plan. i'm too young for that, even if our delicate dance requires me to be responsible beyond my years.
he thought i was 28. he thought i was older than he is. at fifty, i'll be mistaken for sixty. probably....unlike the woman whose name i forget who recently wrote in the times magazine about the horrors of turning fifty and the trip to the plastic surgeon it inspired, i have no intention of masking my age. while the world around me nips and tucks, i'll grow old and grey. and he better love nonplastic me the same.
monday marks a less monumental transition, but a transition just the same. and i itch for it. i'm so unbearably impatient. this is a marked distinction between the two of us. he's contemplative. i'm rash and needy. i don't want to think about changes. i want to get the show on the road. i want to make shit happen. whenever change winks at me, i want it in bed. i don't want to play the flirty string-along game. that's why i've never been good at hard to get. i've never been good with men. i don't play the game. i'm not good at biding time. i desperately need the action. which is why a high-stress job will suit me. else i'd make the stress up for myself in other ways. adrenaline is so addictive.
she said she'd miss me. it's funny the impacts we have on people when we're not even looking.
one more step. one hour. hopefully, the pieces will slide smoothly into place.