I am finally counting down my last two weeks of the last 12 years of my life in the financial services. Being on an extended six-month notice period has its pros and cons.

On the upside, it gives you a lot more time to do what you need to do, like sort out your personal circumstances or get residency status so you're not deported, before the last three years are unceremoniously wiped out like a smudge. It also gives the waves of emotions time to ride themselves out, since constant whingeing about how utterly stupid the restructuring decisions were is exhausting, and a prolonged exposure just leads to resignation.

On the downside, too much time just makes you feel like a corporate death row prisoner on borrowed time, waiting for the guillotine to drop, knowing that it will at some predetermined date in the future.

In this period, one oscillates between hope and futility. Perhaps another position might open up, perhaps management will realize they made a mistake, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Futility and resignation then set in when nothing positive happens. When morale of those left in the ranks are sapped so badly from taking on more and more work, until 'above and beyond' becomes the norm, you start to think that actually the ones who have left or are leaving are the lucky ones. And hey, although it doesn’t feel like that at that time, I AM one of those leaving and hence, one of the lucky ones!

So now that I am in the final home stretch, I can only feel relief and a sense of liberation. Even in the face of impending unemployment and not knowing how long until I see my next pay check, the certainty and finality is a welcome change.

Closure - moving on. But first, I am going on a holiday to detox the last six months out of my system.

Here Is The Writer : bobo-gal

bobo-gal is a Sydney-based bourgeoisie-bohemian masquerading as a corporate suit in financial services for the last 12 years. She has been constantly dreaming of having a flea market stall selling crafts and baked goods, and trawling auction houses for vintage furniture to re-sell to city workers with too much money and too little time. However, with her imminent departure from her job in the city, she might soon be just bo-gal, having to drop the bourgeoisie portion of her name as she dabbles in reupholstering chairs.

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