San Francisco—My apartment.
Dear Cretinous Toad,
It is with great pleasure that I am now, after three years of putting up with your tirades, nitpicking, and general jackassedness, able to bid you adieu. My last day here at the hellhole known as Patterson Enterprises is today! Best of luck finding my replacement, and may God have mercy on that poor sucker’s soul.
Hugs and kisses always,
That was the resignation letter I wanted to turn in today, but I opted instead for the standard nicely worded two-week notice. After the Toad read it, he sneered at me in his nasal whine as only an insensitive and aggravatingly condescending graphic design manager can.
“We’re sorry to have you go,” he said.
Right, because all you’ve done the last three years is ignore 80% of my work, pass me over for a promotion, and treat me like I’m some invisible ghost haunting the far cubicle. Maybe it’s the upcoming cloudy winter. Maybe it’s PMS. All I know is I’m done. I’m done with crappy bosses and working insane hours for nothing. I’m done with flighty men, a flightier mother, living with an ever-revolving cast of hyperactive anal-retentive roommates, and not having two minutes alone in my own private space. I’m done with big-city living. It’s time to move to Montana!
It’s taken me six long and conflicted years to realize that what I really want is independence. And to have independence, it’s entirely impossible to live in San Fran—or possibly even in the same galaxy—as my mother. I love the woman, I truly do, but sometimes I wonder how we’re related. Despite Dad’s massively successful real estate career, and the lifestyle it continues to afford her post-divorce, she still lives in Delusionland, where being married equals security. Without a man and his money, she’s lost, which is why she’s convinced that my sister, Hannah, and I will be lost, too, if we don’t get married. She also deems my brother, Josh, a lost cause because he doesn’t have a “stable job.” She needlessly frets about him even though he’s always employed and has more of a life than Hannah and I do.
I have no illusions that marrying the One equals security, and no interest in sacrificing myself on the altar of thankless jobs. Because of this, Mom thinks I’m lazy, crazy, and not taking my future seriously. I don’t know if there is a One or if I want to get married and have kids. I don’t know if I’d like living alone, but I have to try, because I can’t take noisy roommates arguing, having sex, or feigning psychotic breakdowns at all hours anymore. I started my own business, but it’s floundering because I haven’t had time to build it. I don’t know if I’ll like being my own boss, but commuting to my kitchen wearing jammies sounds like high-quality #workgoals.
There’s so much I don’t know, and there’s no way for me to find out by living in San Fran because all I do is deal with family drama and work forty-seven hours a day, which leaves no time for an actual life.
I’m launching Operation Kendall Independence in Bozeman, Montana, with fifty thousand people, a university, and the support of my best friend. I will hereby conquer the following obstacles:
Obstacle 1—Housing: I will successfully live alone, ideally in a real house.
Obstacle 2—Employment: I will expand my freelance graphic design business and eventually stop working for The Man.
Obstacle 3—Men: I will (finally) figure out what I want in a relationship.
I’ll also need to make a plan for when this escapade falls apart and I have to crawl back to San Fran. I have no permanent home, no job, and no relationship prospects, but I will be successful beyond words, because really, how hard can it be? (Maybe I should add overcoming delusion and denial to my list of goals, because I clearly inherit those tendencies from Mom. Moving on.)