Four weeks of leave in October. One week of Rostered Day Off leave in early December. Christmas week off from accumulated leave. Work all of January until the 3rd of February, then Long Service Leave until May and then eight weeks holiday until July. It is pretty unlikely I will return to work in July 2019.
Workmates urge me to use up sick leave, and I know my doctor is compliant. I was actually so stressed by work a couple of months ago, he gave me sick leave for one week. It did help. But in all conscience I can't just 'use up sick leave'. It is there for when you are sick. I have over one thousand hours of sick leave that work has to budget for, but can reduce on their balance sheet once I retire.
I worry that I won't adjust to having this all this extra time in my life. I worry that R and myself will struggle with so much more time together. I worry that I won't get off my backside and join in things that interest me. I worry that I won't have enough money to support myself.
But at the end of day, I've had enough of work and the twice daily commute in increasingly congested traffic. I've been advised that I have enough superannuation to provide a sufficient income until I can receive the old age pension at 67. Bastards, it used to be 65 and I miss out by ten months.
There is not much I will miss about work. While I try to regulate my my work times to almost normal day times, that is start at 6:30, break from 10:30 until 2:30 and finish at 6:30, many is the time I have been up for work at 4am or still working from the night before at 3am.
But what I will miss is my workmates. They are both locally born and from all corners of the globe but predominantly now the Sub Continent. I get their warts and all view of the world, about Australia and their countries of their birth and all in between. Years ago there were quite a number of rogues in the gallery, but not now. Mind, the rogues used to be great fun people, just not with a strong and decent work ethic....some without ethics at all.
The coffee machine at work was broken. This causes me maximum inconvenience. The short black coffee is drinkable with a little hot water added and cost $1. I had to allow extra time to go to the nearby 711 to get coffee, also $1. It is of about the same quality as the work machine produces. It is hot and it is wet but not proper coffee like I would have in a cafe that would cost $3.50.
While the machine was making my coffee one day in the 711, a workmate who was paying for his coffee called out, what coffee are you having? I replied and he paid for my coffee. What a nice thing to do. Perhaps I am not the evil uncaring person I paint myself as at times. Ha, thinking about it, over the years many people have bought me coffee at work and I don't think I have ever bought anyone coffee. I have offered at times, but people always said no. I did buy a chocolate bar for a student once, who turned out to be a non chocolate eater. Many years ago one student bought me a bottle of Scotch after successfully completing her training. She was not a natural at the job, but I got her through it.
A couple of years ago a new person started at work. He is a tall nicely proportion bearded and very handsome Sikh, who wears a turban. I am so old now, I am generally ignored by new staff, especially by the influx of positive action female staff. They are polite and friendly but I am a sixty year old gay man. I have nothing in common with 20 to 40 year old women. They won't be my friends.
But not so the Sikh Indian, who seemed to like me and made an effort to get to know me. Why is this man being so nice to me? I still don't know. He has now stepped up on a rung at work, drives a new white Mercedes, volunteers in his local community and is positively the nicest person you could meet, aside from being hot as anything and makes me feel weak at the knees whenever I see him, and behave like dumbstruck teenage girl.
A few weeks ago I relieved him from a shift and he gave me a biscuit. Try that, he said. Oh Sukyi, I want much more from you than a biscuit. Nevertheless, that was nice. The biscuit was very good and reminded me of a childhood sweet called Coconut Rough. The next time I saw him, I told him about the Coconut Rough of my youth. I think he is quite ambitious and follows the adage, be nice to people on the way up. I mentioned about the sweet to a gay workmate who quickly deflated my ego with, he's given them to me in the past.
In my work mailbox this Thursday morning were my payslips and another of the same sweet with this sticky note. What a nice thing. There are some things about work I will miss.