I’ve been absent for the last week or so. Remarkably absent for me. I know you may have been concerned, imagining that I had literally fallen off the face of the earth or perhaps to the bottom of an abandoned well where I could have been lying, crying for help, for any number of days, with no one to actually hear me or help me since the well had, obviously, long been abandoned. Yes, I have an overactive imagination. And I grew up on well water. Rest assured, though, that I am not dead, or even injured, in the physical bodily sense. I just lost my job.
There was no real warning that this was to be an imminent occurrence. I had done nothing disastrously wrong, only the few miscellaneous errors a secretary makes from time to time. But my employment was not “terminated” because of these little errors. In essence, my employment was terminated because I am not what they wanted, because they’ve decided they need to grow in a new direction and, rather than spend the money (read “waste the money”) to train me to follow this new direction, they’d rather wipe the slate clean and start with someone who is already primed for that direction.
I took the news rather hard. Yes, I was terribly, utterly, profoundly unhappy there and I dreamt every day, every single day without fail, of leaving them, but it is quite another thing altogether to have them leave me. Of course I thought that I must have been insufficient for their needs, that I was somehow flawed or lacking. And even after I inquired after this, twice, and they assured me that this was not the case, twice, I had a hard time believing their excuse. It took a few days to resigned myself to the idea that I was not utterly incompetent and insufficient and to believe that, really, the break-up was just a result of needing different things, going in different directions as it were.
But then there is the embarrassment. Being dumped is always rather humiliating and, whether you intended to break it off first or not, hearing that you are no longer needed really smarts quite a lot. Admitting that you are no longer needed is even more difficult. I still have a hard time smiling politely as people, well meaning, lovely people, express their condolences and solicit unsolicited advice. It’s been a ball.
And then there’s the fear. Though I loathed my old job, it did, in fact, pay the bills. Without it, I’m not at all certain that I can, in fact, continue to do that. And of course, another job is necessary. And I’ve shopped my resume around a bit with no results. Very encouraging. And just the idea of taking another of these dull office jobs, of fetching someone’s coffee and photocopies under maddening fluorescent lights while I stare at my useless but expensive Bachelor’s degree, which I bought at the price of an obscene amount of blood, sweat, tears and currency, makes me want to cry. And I want to be patient, to wait a bit more while I wade through the public school system and make my way to becoming a marvelous substitute teacher, while I garner experience in the classroom that will very likely tell me whether I truly want to invest more time, more energy, more blood and sweat and tears and currency pursuing my childhood ambition to mold young(er) minds. But patience seems to be a commodity for the rich, or at least the gainfully employed.
The entire big old ball of bullshit is just making me want to crawl into bed, nestle under the covers and hide. Not that this will do me much good- I can lie about listlessly for hours, willing the clock to pass it’s hands faster but can not sleep. Or eat. Or take interest in things that used to interest me. Yes, it’s a text book case of the blues, or clinical depression if you want to be technical. And I feel it so keenly and yet feel powerless against it…
My mother thinks that I really ought just to “trust god.” I told her yesterday that I’m not at all sure that God truly has my best intentions at heart so trusting him would be a bit of a stretch. Besides, we keep having this ongoing conflict about who’s job it is to be in charge of my life and right now, we aren’t speaking because of it. Although, given the truly shitty job I seem to be doing of keeping it all afloat, maybe it isn’t such a bad idea for someone else to be in control of it after all.
So yes, dear bloggersphere friends, I’m alive. I am not, however, well and I’m not sure how much longer it’s gonna have to be this way.
I love you. And I miss you.
*hug*
i’ve told my mother the same thing. sometimes it just doesn’t feel like anyone is really that interested in my best interests.
I lost my job once, too. You seem to be handling this with humor, which I admire and respect. If I tell you that things will get better at some miraculous point, does it make you want to throw a shoe at me?
No, not throw a shoe at you. Hug you, perhaps, but not throw a shoe. I’m trying to believe the positive and hang in their with my humor in tact. We’ll have to see how that goes…