This post marks the first dusty old draft I’ve finally revived in my attempt to clear my Drafts folder out once and for all. One down, seven to go. (Coming up: the worst date of my life, my thoughts on life pre-marriage, reflections on my hometown, and more.)
Poor Kyle left me today. Packed his bags, brushed his teeth, and gave me only a slightly passing glance as he turned and walked away from me. He left.
Just in time for September 25th {my 23rd birthday}.
Oh, I make it sound much more dramatic than it really is (they don’t call me a drama queen for nothing). We aren’t breaking up; he just has to work. I never expected to be the wife of a man who travels a lot for work, but then, I also never expected to be married by 21 and still not graduated from college by 23. Life has certainly thrown me for some interesting loops, that’s all.
Anyway, when he leaves, he’s gone for a few days at a time. Every time he leaves is harder than the trip before. He feels bad when I feel bad, and I don’t mean to guilt trip him, but that’s the way it usually turns out: with both of us competing to see who can feel worse about the situation. I try to tell him that my sappiness is a good thing, that there may come a time when his absence doesn’t affect me at all, and wouldn’t that be worse? Better to be fiercely loved than casually tolerated. Right?
But I won’t complain—how can I complain? Lots of people don’t have jobs right now, and a great portion of the ones who do probably don’t love theirs half as much as Poor Kyle loves his. I’m so glad he’s in a position that he really does enjoy.
That’s the thing about a job, you know? When we have one, we hate it, or maybe we just hate what it does to our lives; but when we don’t have one, we really wish we did. We spend hours selling ourselves to every company, corporation, or business that is even thinking about hiring. We drive down city streets, nearly causing 10-car pileups because our eyes are constantly darting from storefronts to billboards for the hope of being rewarded with the ever-elusive “Help Wanted” sign. It’s dangerous, being unemployed. We are constantly on our guard, anxious to whore out our souls to anyone with a fat pocketbook.
It’s hard having a job, certainly. Waking up. Maintaining the drudgery. Paying taxes. None of it is fun. It’s all really hard.
But I submit that it’s even harder being unemployed.
And that’s why I can’t complain about Poor Kyle’s job that frequently takes him to far-away places. We’re lucky he has the job at all, let alone that he truly loves it and thrives on it. If only everyone could be so blessed. I can’t complain. I won’t. I won’t pray for him to be home more, because I’ve heard the old sentiment, “Be careful what you wish for,” and my friends? I believe.
Still, it won’t stop me from drowning my lonely soul in a vat of Diet Dr. Pepper. Why anyone would want to drown their sorrows in any other beverage is beyond my comprehension.
I’ll quit once this next 12 pack runs dry.
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Just a reminder to be thinking about this weekend’s Saturday Steals (which will last from Friday night through Sunday night) extravaganza. Steal, write, link, enjoy. That’s the way we play the SS game.
5 Responses to Unemployment.