So it turns out that “I don’t read your blog – it’s too offensive” (mum), and “blog? What blog? The travel one?” (dad) were fibs, because both parents read the blog. That means I’ll have to cut the eff bombs (my apologies, mum), and never again mention sanitary pads (sorry, dad).
I am currently “between jobs”, so I have all the time in the world to spend time with friends whose offspring and occupations usually mean our schedules are not conducive for catching up. It was at one such meeting that the guy behind the counter at the gym said “you know you’re supposed to find another job before you quit, right?” Then I remembered why I’m not a member of any gym, or club, or group, because I don’t enjoy unsolicited advice from virtual strangers.
There are plenty of things I’m supposed to do mate, like floss my teeth and eat breakfast, wear a helmet on my beach cruiser, drink two litres of water a day and colour my hair every six weeks.
I find it interesting that people feel it’s within their jurisdiction to advise you shouldn’t have left your job. If someone had broken up with their partner and when asked “Why did you decide to consciously uncouple?”, they replied, “He was a narcissistic sociopath, he undermined and belittled me in front of our friends, he questioned my qualifications and experience, and every three months he’d call a meeting and ask me to tell him why he should agree to extend our relationship. Every morning I would wake up and hope that I’d get hit by a bus (just a small one), so that I could spend a bit of time out in Ward Two at Waikato Hospital”.
Upon hearing that answer, would it be an acceptable response to say “You know you really should have found a new partner before you left, right?”
I’ve been “between jobs” in the past and I’ve spent the whole time attending endless interviews with recruitment agents, tapping out cover letters and stressing about my next pay cheque. I told myself I wouldn’t do that this time. As soon as I get a new job, I’ll be counting the weeks ’til my next holiday, and wishing I’d achieved more and worried less during my unpaid leave.
Things are a bit different this time, now that I have someone else with which I pretend to adult, and a little person to whom I need to try and set a good example about sticking it out and doing the right thing and making good choices. So every morning I get dressed and pretend I’m going to work, I drive around the corner and do some crochet in the car, and then I drive home and change into my activewear.
I’ve been a bit of a misery guts lately, and if you’d asked why, I would’ve said there were a number of contributing factors standing in the way of my “happiness”. I would’ve said I’m stressed about the house being on the market, and I’m worried about where we’ll build and I’m feeling the pressure of being a step mum (read: the pressure of not saying “fuck”) and I’m not enjoying my job.
One of those things have changed, just one, and I am living the dream baby! We’re still selling the house, we’re still trying to decide where and when to build a house, I am still doing a shit job of not saying fuck around Miss M, but life is amazing.
I’ve been doing all sorts of things that I haven’t done in a long time, if ever. In the mornings I’ve been brushing my teeth for a full two minutes, standing in the bathroom – stationary. Outrageous! I go grocery shopping in my activewear – at a leisurely pace. Of course, when I was in full time employment I went to the supermarket in my activewear, but now I’m not in a hurry to be somewhere else. I’m one of those people dawdling around the supermarket in my activewear, and giving zero fucks.
I get home and I leave the groceries in the car, while I unlock the door and disarm the security system. I know right?!? Who does that?!? It gets better, I carry the groceries in two bags at a time. Hold. Me. Back. It takes me like 10 trips, and makes me think that I should get one of those sweet step counting watches, but I don’t drop anything, or break any eggs, or say fuuuuuuuccck.
And tunes, don’t forget the tunes (pronounced “too-ns”). Pretty sure the neighbours think I’ve turned the house into a 90’s R & B club – turns out that dancing isn’t just something that you do on a Friday night after too many after work drinks. Dancing is something you do in your kitchen because you can, and because Destiny’s Child, that’s why.
So I’ve been dancing and meal making and tidying (shit, I am getting good at tidying), and creating epic shit. I’m not naturally creative. I don’t use that side of my brain as much as I should, but when you quiet the voice of self doubt, clear through the bullshit and give it a good nudge, you surprise yourself.
The best thing about being between jobs, is that when you get to the end of the day and there’s still shit on your to do list, you can just do that shit the next day, or the next day, or the next day.
The down side to being between jobs, is that you’re kind of like a dog. You spend all day digging holes and barking at birds, and then someone gets home with opposable thumbs and you’re bouncing around, “throw the ball! Throw the ball! Pleeeeeeeeaase throw the ball!” But the person with opposable thumbs, they just want to have a shower and get into their drop crotch trackies and park up on the couch with the remote under their chin. Oh well, at least one of us is winning at life.