I remember reading something written by Alanis Morissette once. Not sure it was a song. It said “If you don’t like your job, quit it.” I thought that was the craziest thing I had ever read. You don’t just quit your job. You need it. No job is fun (well, no job I’ve had, at least) but it’s comforting to know that you’ll be able to provide to your family. So, quitting was never an option in my house.
But I’m not in my house anymore. I’m in a weird basement in a city I never wanted to live. I can’t just settle and hang in there for days, weeks and months until this becomes by life. I didn’t want to be there anymore.
A few weeks ago, I realized that place was killing me. And, every morning when I sat on my chair I felt this urge to scream. I thought that was something people just made up or a figure of speech. I needed to scream, cry, run away.
It was a combination of things that started to kill me slowly and I needed to be alive.
On Thursday I came home and told my husband how I felt. He looked at me and said “You’re not going back. You are quitting tomorrow.” There’s something about when my husband says things that makes them seem doable. Before his consent, I didn’t realize moving (yet again) was still an option and I would never think of quitting.
Right now I feel confused. I hate not having a plan. I’ve applied for a few jobs in cities we’ve visited and like and if I can’t find something I think I’d at least be interested in doing I’ll wait. Maybe my husband will work this time.
As irresponsible as it may sound… I needed it. Otherwise it could have taken me with it.
I think my concussion symptoms are gone. I missed writing.
Take care, guys.