My Stars

The hits, do, actually keep on coming.  Somehow, after doubting it was possible, and thinking I had to wait until after the weekend, I have been offered a job.  It is a job where I would be making 26% more than I was supposed to be making, and technically, accurately, 182% of what I am actually being paid right now. Which I think cannot be right and yet, somehow, it is.  This does not count in the benefits which will save me at the very least $2400 a year.

I mean, it is, in so many respects, an opportunity for a resurrection.  To get back on the path of having a life where I can have some control over my own wants and needs again.  Where I won’t be hoping that I will get paid, where I won’t have to be 100% aware that my income won’t cover my expenses.  It means that I can pay off debt in a big way so that my money will be mine again and not going towards a credit card.  It means I can have regular dental appointments.   I can make sure my sister’s okay or at least, I never have to lean on her.

It means that J and I could…I don’t know…meet? It means that I could visit my friends again.  It means I could help contribute towards a vacation gift for my parents.  It means I could go to a random Sunday afternoon yoga class.  It means I can bring a gym bag to work and spend 30 minutes on a bike or something. I can keep my Netflix.  It means I can buy a book when I want to, pay for a full tank of gas without scraping through the coin jar.  It means I can buy groceries in a sensible, complete way and not just a meal’s worth of really unhealthy things.  I can buy ingredients for recipes.  I can get BLUE APRON.  Oh, my god. I can get that light in my car fixed.  I can buy random, one-off presents for people because I think they’re appropriate.

I can get my hair done, have a massage, play Mass Effect! Get a new laptop that I can unplug and close and take to a coffee shop to work on writing with. I could figure out being a part of a writing group again.  I can upgrade my foundation.  Go have a fancy bra fitting.  Do that end of year project I wanted to do.  I could buy forks! Get my eyebrows plucked.

Of course, I am fixated on all that the money could do.  All that it could allow my life to do.

Can I do this job?  Can I do it…based solely on the person who I will be working for and the job description? I think so.  Can I do it as well as I want to?  Can I do it without stress and anxiety and shame and negativity and posts six months from now where I walk back all of these claims and repudiate the money and just say I want to go live in a shack in the woods?  That, I am less sure of.  If one person gets frustrated with me, can I deal?  If I really screw up royal, I’m really…

It means that I am going from 2 phone calls a day (both of them my boss) to urgent, pressing phone calls throughout.  It means hundreds of strident, demanding emails that want my time rather than ten or twelve that can mostly be deleted. It means hundreds of new faces I will need to recall.  It means shaking hands and learning protocol and what should be done, rather than sitting back and observing.  It means putting on work face.  Showing up and showing up with the goods.  Sincerely registering every issue.  Taking notes and asking questions and preparing in a rolling fashion one task to the next. It means that I can’t text off and on to the guy, or check out the in internet. It means eight hours of all-in, focused behavior in an environment of stressed-out, dramatic people.  They told me this was what to expect. (I saw someone stressed out and weepy when I visited there in October.)   It means figuring things out and thinking ahead.  It means organization, letting go of criticism that’s unwarranted, making friends, being a political creature, thinking tactically, breaking through these day long anxiety jags, taking pride in the work.  It means going to sleep earlier.   Getting up earlier.  Being flexible and willing when I don’t want to be.

I think the company has so much to recommend it, there’s so many benefits to being there.  It’s great for my resume.  It’s great for my future.  I want to experience it even as I’m concerned I don’t have what’s emotionally required.  It does not require me to deal with the strain of making organizational ends meet.  People will want me to learn and be that source of information, Janie-on-the-spot, rather than a third wheel as I so often feel.  The questions will be logistical, linguistic, questions of etiquette and protocol, clerical, social and not…financial, mathematical, budgetary.  Not in such a full-bore sort of way as I experience now.  I will need to host and be a part of meetings, get questions answered, assert myself constantly.

My personality will need to twist that bit further.

It is not running off to go be a writer in a garret.  It is not the creatively kind direction for myself.  It is not going to be a path of least resistance to honor these parts of me, I am going to have to give a shit here, too.

But if I can build skills to keep this house in order, I can find ways to make time, to do something relaxing so that I can handle it, I can be hungry for it.

Just bless us, everyone.  I am so bizarrely happy this is happening.

 

 

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