Most Sundays I make an effort, at some point during the day, to write an essay here, to sort of stretch myself a little bit as a writer. At any given moment, there are usually at least a couple of ideas in my head that bear further examination and often they are worth essays, if I can organize my thoughts.
This Sunday needs to be different.
I was watching CBS Sunday Morning a little while ago and for no particular reason, I just started crying. I was not in physical pain. My gardens had been watered. Lola had been walked. Mother had been dressed and given her breakfast. I had started my laundry.
Lola was asleep on the sofa next to me.
I had eaten a good breakfast and was drinking my tea, which is normally the time of the morning when I try to just Rest and Digest. Watch a little TV. Play some Words With Friends on my phone. Plan the day.
So where did those tears come from?
I realized that they came from postponing dealing with some painful situations that arose last week. They were destined to come out, and the only thing to do was let them flow.
Tears that don't get to flow turn into poison inside of us, I think. Poison that causes self-destructive behavior and piles misery on misery. I don't want to go down that road.
Nothing really awful happened last week. Nobody died. But sometimes when sadness piles up one finds oneself carried away on that torrent, with no control whatsoever, and no way to steer safely over to the bank.
So here's a list, of sorts, of at least what I feel comfortable sharing here. I'm hoping writing about these things will be cathartic...
I interviewed for a job late last month and I was sure I would get it. I would have bet money on it. It was the perfect legal job for me. The interview went really well. At the end, the interviewer shook my hand and said "I really enjoyed meeting you, Dee. You are delightful." I floated home on a cloud of optimism, already planning all the things I could do with that great salary.
Not only did I not get that job, I didn't even get called for a second interview.
The same day I learned that upsetting news, I saw a job ad and thought "AHA! That's the perfect writing job for me! I will apply to it! God has shut a door but opened a window." So I did. I spent a great deal of time carefully crafting a cover letter highlighting my writing experience that I felt was relevant. I sent it off with a prayer and high hopes.
I didn't get called to interview for that writing job. My experience has been that if I send off a resume and don't get called for an interview within 24 hours, it's highly unlikely I will ever hear anything else about that job. Sometimes I'm wrong, but not usually. I think the person who places the job ad sees my resume and thinks "OH! I better call and get her in for an interview because she looks like a great candidate and I don't want someone else to steal her away!" -- OR not.
I am still applying right and left for any job I think I might have even a remote chance of getting, but after doing this off and on for most of the past 5 years, it's gotten very old. I wish I could just find an employer who understands that I can learn new computer programs without much trouble but some kid right out of college cannot bring my level of intelligence and wisdom to the table. Unfortunately, employers have set up screening mechanisms that pretty much discount anyone whose resume doesn't fit a narrow set of criteria.
My father hired people based on whether or not that were smart and had good character and a good work ethic. He didn't care what they majored in in college. Unfortunately, there aren't many like him around any more.
Another source of sadness...
A friendship that I thought might turn into something more did not. In fact, it's pretty clear to me that the whole relationship will likely never go anywhere, for reasons totally beyond my control. I had been hopeful. That's all I can really say about that...
Another source..
Mother's arthritis has been plaguing her recently, to the point where she is in a lot of pain -- not all the time, but frequently. There is nothing I can do about that. I take her meals to her in her room, and try to help her have books to read and things to distract her. Watching someone you love suffer, and being unable to fix it is hellish.
There were smaller sources of upset which, taken individually, are not a big deal, but taken all together...
I need to get back into the weight loss groove. After being sick for months and unable to eat much without feeling awful, my recent recuperation has seen me putting some weight back on which I needed to have kept off. I love food. A lot. [Especially Ritz crackers...] I've got to get back on the program, though. It's always tough. I'm rather disgusted with myself.
I've gone to great lengths to try and get Michael to go to college, but I cannot predict what he will do this week, given his fear of new situations. I keep praying about it, but I just don't have any clear answers. I keep thinking to myself that if Michael could really and truly understand just what a promising future he has, with his incredible intellect, work ethic, sense of fairness, inherent kindness -- so many good qualities and talents -- he could do ANYTHING. He just doesn't realize what an amazing person he is, and I haven't been able to convey that to him.
My favorite Teva sandals are kaput.
I am sick of heat and humidity of August. I want FALL TEMPS.
I am tired of trying to think of things to fix for dinner.
Lola needs a bath.
I need to clean my room and I don't want to..
Yes, I realize now I am just basically whining. It's my blog and I'll whine if I want to.
So... the pity party is over, for the moment. I feel a bit better. I haven't given up, or given in. I will keep fighting the good fight, and trying to take care of my little family without whining or feeling sorry for myself.
I will try to remember the many blessings in my life, while I eat my salads and send off resumes, and pray.
I still believe God has plans for my life which include joy.
My job is to keep the faith.
“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.”
― Cynthia Occelli
photo by Lisa Amos
