Last Words

Tomorrow is my final day here. I've packed up all my trinkets and taken all the personal and blackmail-worthy matieral off my office PC. I've started to do all the required motions but I just can't seem to write my office Farewell letter. They really just make me sick. So many people have left this place that I've become well-versed in the farewell epistle, that which chronicles the "valuable and unforgettable" experience each person has found here and how much "we will be truly missed" and yadayadahyadah. These "sincere" employment eulogies make my literary sensibilities wretch from sugared emotion overload and are the single last thing I want to leave here with my name attached to. I want to be truthful and direct and appreciative of all the time I've spent here expending this company's internet resources and free soft drinks.

I could be cheeky:

All good things must come to an end. And this my friends is the end.

I could be boring:

This is my last day. I wish you all the best.

I could be silly:

Sarah has left the building. I repeat. Sarah has just left the building.

Or I could be a bitch:

I'm getting out before the boat sinks. You best do the same.

All of which I will not (try to) be of course because I do want to leave a good impression here, and I have valued this experience, and I really and truly goddammit will miss working here. I just hate having to say it because it always sounds so lame and artificial since what I'm doing I'm announcing to every one of my coworkers that I am officially blowing this popsicle stand for supposedly bigger and better things and underneath whatever gobbeldey-gook I end with, what they hear is, I'm off to something better than what you have . . .

You know what, I really hope they're right.