Rob puts it well, I think, at the start – you put it down, get it out, and you are better -sort of – for a time. And I wish I had more time lately to put it down because it is filling up and spilling over.
Work is so disheartening that I have to force myself to sit there…put the headphones on and listen distantly to the irritating conversations about nothing that matters. I’ve stepped out – resumes sent – for the first time in 13 years. The first submittal was frightening, my finger hovering over the mouse, spinning the icon around and around the Send button. Around and around in a pointless circle of The Same.
My hands ache most of the time, the work unkind after 3 decades of keyboards. I think about another 13 years of it and wonder if I’ll sleep at all at night for their pain. And I think of the pleasure – the deep, soul filling pleasure that I have at manual labor even when it isn’t a good time – when my step sinks to the knee in mud, the boot barely retained. I move with satisfied exhaustion.
No help that I’ve been sick for weeks, that my lungs hurt deep down, and I don’t know if it is the end or a new and worse condition. The 10 day supply of meds are down to 3 and have to hope it is working. But it also serves as a good reminder – how long and how hard could I work without it? It reinforces the need to stock up on what we haven’t much of…
I think about yesterday, having taken the day off, and the deep peace of merely running household errands without rushing, the dinner prep with time to plan and present…the dogs walked without irritation. I cannot help but remember the Sabbatical about 15 years ago – a year taken to just recover from deception and failure. I lost my mind, and then I lost 50 lbs. I was in the best health of my life. And truly happy at the end. I give it serious consideration. What could I manage with that year again? I am too old to waste time being unhappy. I try to think about a job I could create – what I would do that would be pleasing regardless of remuneration.
I saw this job…helluva commute though. Still…eventually I have to have a dream, right? After decades of supporting the dreams of the beloved…sometime it’s my time. Right? Or do I just drift?