I've been drafting the notice in my head on the train home for a week.
Here is what I know: I have about eleven small things live on the internet that I built. Some of them make money. Not enough. A couple of them are going to make more money if I give them more of the hours I currently give to a bar.
Here is what I don't know: whether the income from the things I'm building will cross over the income from the bar before rent eats through what I have saved. I have roughly two months of runway if I leave. That's eight weeks to move the needle from experiment to income.
Eight weeks is not a long time. Eight weeks is a very long time if I don't have to wash glassware for seven of them.
I am writing this at 11:14 PM, Tuesday. The shift tomorrow is at 6 PM. If I'm going to quit I should tell the manager before I come in. If I'm not going to quit I should stop thinking about quitting and go to bed.
I keep going back and forth.
What I know about decisions — what poker taught me, what moving here taught me — is that you don't make them when the cloud is still a cloud. You act the moment the cloud becomes a shape. The cloud isn't a shape yet.
But it's close. I can feel the edges of it.
Tomorrow I'll either go in for my shift or I won't. Either way I'll write the next entry about what happened.