Goodbye, part 1

I'm sitting here with my resignation letter in front of me. It's about two months since I told my boss, and over those weeks, I've gradually been telling more and more people, although nothing has been concrete until now.

I worte it without a moment's hesitation - it didn't occur to me to wonder what to write, or agonise over the wording; I knew what I wanted to say, and I said it.

But now it's real. The letter says I will be leaving 'no earlier than' March 19th, and in truth, by April I will be gone. The job I took as a stopgap in September 1989 - something to get us over the worst period in our lives, with Zoë unable to work, and me redundant, slowly turned into a roller-coaster ride of fun and frustration in equal measure. For a time I didn't leave because I didn't know what else I could do; then for a long time, I was enjoying it too much to contemplate doing anything else. A couple of years ago, I was fed up, stuck in a rut, and ready to go. We started to talk about and plan Canada, and for the first time, I could see a way forward.

Then, with typical inevitability, the job became engrossing and exciting. I knew it couldn't last, and indeed it hasn't, but it will be much harder now to walk away than it would have been 18 months ago.

Still, I'm ready. And the letter's on my desk; just needs an envelope.

And then I can start saying goodbye properly.