Coming home....

It's been a pretty lousy fortnight at work all things considered.

A creeping sense that I suck at my job, an inability to sleep on a sleep-in shift because I'm reflecting on how much I want to be home after a day doing a real job, and a slight suspicion that my erratic working hours might have contributed to being dumped again. But today's different, as I'm riding the bus into work with a smile on my face. This is partly because I'm going for lunch with the Chief which is always a good start to my day. It's also because I've drawn a thought bubble on the window saying "I QUIT".

28 hours later I'm just finishing my shift, so on the way home I persuade Chief to come out for a coffee and a pretty massive cake. As usual for me at the end of a shift, I've got far too much stubble, rings under my eyes and the same top I was wearing yesterday. She's got the refreshed look of someone who might have actually gone home last night. I remark on this before cutting to the chase, as I know this is going to hurt.
"I started work 28 hours ago and I haven't gone home yet. I don't want to think of this as normal."
As ever, she's very sympathetic, and says she could never go back to support work.
"I've applied for a job in Northwark as an assistant social worker. Can I put you down as a reference?"

The nicer your boss, the harder it is to quit. But it gets a little easier when I think of the hours.