If Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolfe had written about Miss Bennett and Mr. Darcy?
Survived another week. By the skin of my teeth.
Three more till christmas break.
Tick tock tick tock tick
They tell me that if a new teacher makes it to Christmas break that she'll make it the whole year.
Meanwhile I'm looking into pie-in-the-sky ideas. Googling the hell out of jobs in other industries, researching online degree programs, yearning for a life spent doing what I want to do when I want to do it and how I want to do it and getting paid handsomely for it.
Aaron, a pragmatist, tells me as gently as possible that there is no such thing. Fantasy. Myth. Fiction. He isn't saying it in a soul-crushing way. He's being really kind, and very careful about it, but essentially he's helping me step out of my little-girl dreams and into the reality of adulthood.
But he is ever supportive. Steadfastly supportive. And encouraging.
And he is also trying to help me work through the trauma of working for a living. He's been working jobs since high school. And he's great at working. He's really good at wading through the bullshit, at being agreeable, at not taking things personally, and getting through the day.
His advice is to "find all the things you DO like about your job; focus on them." He maintains that if I continue to get worked up about the other stuff, continue to stress and focus on the negative, that I will go insane.
And I can't quit this job.
And I can't check-out.
So I'd better find some way to manage. To get by.
And actually get good enough at my job so that they don't fire me before I can make arrangements for my next (to be failed) career venture.
The problem with wanting out of this job? It pretty much seals the deal on the whole kids debate. If I don't have a steady job and steady income there will be NO CHILDREN. That's just the way it is.
Sigh.
It is shaping up to be another season of everyone-around-me-is-having-a-baby. Cousins, sisters, co-workers.
New baby a week a month ago, another a week or so ago, another baby due this week, and then both my sister and sister in law are due in the spring/early summer.
Happy for them all around.
And I love watching my baby nieces getting older. Zoe, Natalie, Maggie, Sophia. And my grown up neices and nephews too!
But there's something inexpressibly melancholy about being an aunt. I didnt want to think so. I didn't want to believe that. But there it is. A separate, spare quality.
It is sunday. And sundays hurt because monday is coming.
But waking up this sunday morning warm and cozy, loved and languid; having my dearest wish come true never gets old, never grows stale, never disappoints. I love falling asleep in his arms every night, and waking up beside him every morning. It was what I prayed for, wished for, and worked for for YEARS. And having it, it becomes more dear, never less so.
I'm a lucky, lucky woman.
Despite all my bitching and moaning.
Survived another week. By the skin of my teeth.
Three more till christmas break.
Tick tock tick tock tick
They tell me that if a new teacher makes it to Christmas break that she'll make it the whole year.
Meanwhile I'm looking into pie-in-the-sky ideas. Googling the hell out of jobs in other industries, researching online degree programs, yearning for a life spent doing what I want to do when I want to do it and how I want to do it and getting paid handsomely for it.
Aaron, a pragmatist, tells me as gently as possible that there is no such thing. Fantasy. Myth. Fiction. He isn't saying it in a soul-crushing way. He's being really kind, and very careful about it, but essentially he's helping me step out of my little-girl dreams and into the reality of adulthood.
But he is ever supportive. Steadfastly supportive. And encouraging.
And he is also trying to help me work through the trauma of working for a living. He's been working jobs since high school. And he's great at working. He's really good at wading through the bullshit, at being agreeable, at not taking things personally, and getting through the day.
His advice is to "find all the things you DO like about your job; focus on them." He maintains that if I continue to get worked up about the other stuff, continue to stress and focus on the negative, that I will go insane.
And I can't quit this job.
And I can't check-out.
So I'd better find some way to manage. To get by.
And actually get good enough at my job so that they don't fire me before I can make arrangements for my next (to be failed) career venture.
The problem with wanting out of this job? It pretty much seals the deal on the whole kids debate. If I don't have a steady job and steady income there will be NO CHILDREN. That's just the way it is.
Sigh.
It is shaping up to be another season of everyone-around-me-is-having-a-baby. Cousins, sisters, co-workers.
New baby a week a month ago, another a week or so ago, another baby due this week, and then both my sister and sister in law are due in the spring/early summer.
Happy for them all around.
And I love watching my baby nieces getting older. Zoe, Natalie, Maggie, Sophia. And my grown up neices and nephews too!
But there's something inexpressibly melancholy about being an aunt. I didnt want to think so. I didn't want to believe that. But there it is. A separate, spare quality.
It is sunday. And sundays hurt because monday is coming.
But waking up this sunday morning warm and cozy, loved and languid; having my dearest wish come true never gets old, never grows stale, never disappoints. I love falling asleep in his arms every night, and waking up beside him every morning. It was what I prayed for, wished for, and worked for for YEARS. And having it, it becomes more dear, never less so.
I'm a lucky, lucky woman.
Despite all my bitching and moaning.
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1 comment:
i typed you a message, but decided we should get coffee instead. what you doing?
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