I've been a bit of an unstructured mess lately.
In an odd paradox, the house has never been cleaner.
Although I used to bitch about getting up and going to work every day like it was some kind of redundant and useless act, I miss it. The deadlines and schedules and phone calls reminded me that daytime passes quickly. I used to have full days, and now I'm doing whatever I can to just fill them.
The truly sad thing is that I used to daydream about having my days to myself, and what I would accomplish, what I would get done, what I would build and make and enjoy. I suppose that kind of free time would be sweeter if the backdrop wasn't painted with the panic of job loss and loss of income.
Every day I think about it, about what I should be doing instead of marinating in worry and panic.
I am lucky, though, that I have a supportive family and husband. Dave keeps reminding me that I'm not alone, and that there are thousands upon thousands of people just like me, trying to make it.
And then I really think about it... If I was dreading 10-hour days and carrying two buckets at my last job, why would I want to do that again? Will things ever be different, or are we all just "human resources"? (I really hate that term.)
I think about that while Fitzgerald or Mr. Orange nuzzle me in my lap while I'm at the desk, writing or applying for jobs at places that are far away from them. And Fitzgerald rests his head in the crook of my arm as my fingers taps the keys, and I think, "That's so sweet."
This is so bittersweet.