Age Ain't Nothin' But a Number

So today, I talk myself out of bed again. Late, again. And I talk myself into the uniform, and the kids out the door. Late, again. I talk myself into the car (late again) only today my autopilot fails. This the same autopilot who takes me to the parking garage even when I don't intend to go there,
because today I'm thinking about that promise I made to myself to not still be doing this when I am forty.
I don't care about turning forty.
Not exactly.
It's just another age.
No, it is.

It's just another age, except that by now, I should be on a comfortably high-up perch. I should have an office, and free parking, and some perks.
I should be wearing my own clothes, and waiting to see if people will compliment my new weird asymmetrical haircut instead of breathing in cancer-in-a-can because my employer has "in-sourced" it's pest control service.

(For sake of clarity, I do not want that haircut.)

I should be planning awesome week-long vacations. Buying a truckload of Pampered Chef bamboo cutting boards and taking Tai-chi or something.
I should be two-thirds of the way to retirement.



But instead,
pretty soon I'll be forty.
And I'm still here.
And that is making me think some pretty scary thoughts.
(No, not THOSE kinds of scary thoughts.)
But what do you do when the same thing isn't working?
You do something different.
Right?

Is there anyone else here who's taken that leap of faith?
Given your notice? Said. "Fuck it, this isn't working," when it's the only guarantee you've got?

Who are you?
Did it work?

Would you do it again.