So I find myself feeling a bit low of late. This happens, of course. Usually when it happens I find myself focusing on one thing and really hunkering down into the misery of it. Most often that thing is my weight. But I can't really complain about that right now; I'm down just over 10 pounds in the five weeks I've been back on 'ye old mammoth diet plan', and it's so shockingly easy I feel like an idiot for not going back on it sooner (oooh, there's something I could obsess about--how I wasted all that time NOT losing weight after Tori was born--I'll file that one away for later). So naturally, I needed to find something else to worry about.
Cheryl asked in the comments section yesterday how I was feeling about being back at work. When I emailed her back, I said I didn't want to talk about it because I didn't want to risk being Dooced like poor Buffy just did. But honestly, I'm not doing very well at all.
The truth is that I do LOVE my job, and I above and beyond imagining LOVE the place I work. I have never--in nearly thirty years of working (yes, I got my first job at age nine)--been treated so well by an employer. My boss is unbearably kind to me, and his boss is even nicer. My benefits are amazing, my pay is reasonable, and my work load eminently bearable.
But every single day I kiss Tori goodbye and head off to work I die just a little bit. I can't help but think of all the cool things we'd do if I was home--go swimming at the Y, check out our local kid's museum, go to music classes and see our friends that are home with kids too. Not to mention all the recovery meetings I'd go to, the healthy food I'd cook, the praying and meditating I'd get back in the practice of.
I've looked and looked, and the sad fact remains that there is no fairy godmother willing to pay me $30K to stay home with my daughter. Nor is there even a part-time job out there that will pay me $30 an hour for my delightful and diverse skill set (vet tech! marketer! public relations! event planner! store manager!). I've looked at other jobs out there, and there is not a single job better than the one I have now. There's nothing to it but to just sit tight and practice acceptance, and continue to do my job to the very best of my ability on a daily basis.
Grrrrrrrrrrrr. How much does THAT suck.
In recovery we talk about how we alcoholics sit on the bar stool waiting to be "plucked away" to a life of fame and fortune. I know that was true for me--I was sure someone would come in and see that I was an absolute fucking genius poet and they would catapult me into a life of riches and glory (because there are, oh, hundreds of poets living that glamorous life, right?).
In some ways, I think I've done the same thing with this blog. I sit here, waving my girlie bits (VAGINA) around the Internet, hoping someone will see and decide that, just like Dooce, I deserve to be paid a large amount of money JUST TO BE ME. I've thought about pursuing writing more and done not one thing about it (OK, I pitched one story to one place and was rightfully ignored). If I want to get paid to write, I need to get off my ass and do something and stop thinking that this blog is going to make it happen.
After all, I didn't start this blog to become famous or earn a living. I started it so I could talk about how infertility was tearing me apart, and so I could get support and stop feeling so fucking alone all the damn time. And you all have given me more than any Internet whore could dream of.
But I suffer from magical thinking. I keep thinking that we'll win the lottery, and I'll be "taken away from all of this." But that's even less likely than becoming a famous blogger.
Sigh.
The good news is, I've been here before; this is the third time since I've been back at work that I've dipped into this pit. I know it's temporary. I won't feel this way forever, or frankly, feel this way tomorrow. Chances are that in a few days this will be a distant memory.
And spring is coming, snow currently falling be damned. Spring means summer and vacations and camping and lots of long, sunny days. I can hold on for that. Right?
