Unemployed

For the last ten days I have been decompressing. The 26th July 2007 will be a historic date for me, as it was on that day my last ever shift at Manchester Airport took place. The actual day itself contained little of interest, and seemed to last forever, but I am out.
My term at the airport was as long as the Second World War and, in the same way those soldiers felt it, it has taken a large portion of my youth - all those missed nights out and anti-social bed-at-eight nights in (obviously not as bad as those nights spent in foxholes, but it's a loose comparison at best...). In recent months the airport has become intolerable, and I decided to leave lest the damage to my psychic state overtook my whole existence. I flung myself into the void of unemployment, yet I have no anxiety. The real, overarching truth is that I got out just in time and I am relieved it's over.
However, this record will continue, with a new name or without, I haven't decided. I shall always be the Airport Exile, my thousand-yard stare and pale skin will never vanish. I have to reajust to living the quotidian existence of the majority, and it will take some doing. I hate the rush hour, but now I seem unable to avoid it. How the hell does it last all day...?
I will continue to write here as I embark on a new phase of my life. I don't know where it will take me yet, but stay tuned.