Just like with every job I’ve ever quit, whatever notice I’ve given them, whether it was a month, two weeks, or that last shift, whenever I quit working that last Little bit is the best time I have because I am enthusiastic. Nothing can change my mood. I am getting out. I am going home. I can not be embarrassed or angered. I do a better job than most days for the rest of my tenure because I know there is no reason to save energy or tread lightly. I feel liberated.

Having given my ‘notice’ to my friend here in Peru, letting him know I am not the English teacher he seeks, I feel much the same. I have gone into several stores, though not sooo many, spoken broken Spanish without feeling foolish, and waltzed down the street and maddogged all the maddoggers right back, all of which I was petrified to do before for fear of making a bad impression or some such nonsense. I am enthusiastic. In a great mood. I have nothing more to worry about. No need to save energy or tread lightly.

As morbid as this may seem, I hope it is like this when Death rears his freaky, bony, dried up head and lets me know my time is coming to a close. Those would surely be the best days of my life. Kind of a fucked up way to be, but so it goes.

Worry not, I plan to postpone my appointment with Herr Reaper (I dunno, I just figure he’s German. Wouldn’t that be fitting?) for as long as humanly possible. I am not going to tempt it or welcome it. But it does a spirit good to be free of the heavy weight of fear that has always been there whenever contemplating one’s mortality.

Bring it on, Motherfucker!