Today is my last day of work. I plan to celebrate by going to Chipotle and doing almost nothing productive.

At the moment, I'm feeling very, very good about my decision. Particularly because the leader on this project — justifiably, if belatedly, terrified about the project's nonexistent chance of success — just came into my "office" and asked whether I thought I and the rest of the team ought to come into the office on Saturday and Sunday in order to meet our un-meetable Monday deadline. It was all I could do to keep from erupting into joyous laughter (I managed to constrain my reaction to "shit-eating grin").

And that's another thing — the word "office" is in quotes for a reason. It's actually a conference room that I'm sharing with the other developers. They took away my cube last week. Maybe as punishment for leaving, maybe just because they're ludicrously short on space. That was fine, though. The only galling part was the pretense: that this would be good for the project, foster a "bullpen" environment, and that I had been spoiling for just such a change. In the days after having my desk moved (for the third time since August), a succession of not-future-references trundled past the conference room door, cheerfully asking how much I was enjoying this new getting-kicked-in-the-nuts arrangement that I had been asking for. Normally I would have politely mumbled a noncommital "fine". But with my days numbered, I was free to explain, politely but in detail, exactly how little I wanted or appreciated the new accomodations. It was extremely satisfying, in a completely childish and pathetic way. Where's my red stapler?

Well, the last day of work is even more liberating. I'm in the contract prime's offices, as I have been for a while. There are no bridges to burn; these people are my boses' bosses, not mine. I don't want to get Actual Boss in trouble, but I'll never personally have to be involved with the people here again. I'm not peeing in the water fountain or anything, but I'm blissfully free to eschew workplace pretense. If it weren't for the loyalty I feel toward Actual Boss, I'd be wearing a sandwichboard reading THE END IS NIGH and wandering past the offices of everyone associated with this project. You have all been well and truly fucked from the day you signed this contract.

Ah well. I'm in a good mood. Tomorrow morning I have to go to Mclean, where I will spend four hours teaching my coworkers some of what I know. That tempers my elation, but only a little.

It's almost lunchtime — feels like a guacamole day.