Livin’ On A Prayer
I know, again with the song titles…..but living on a prayer is what I feel like I’m doing nowadays.
I mean, I’m not certain of ANYTHING in my life right now, except for God’s love and Will’s devotion. Oh, and the fact that everything’s better with bacon. But seriously, this is about as weird as it’s been in several years, and I don’t like it one bit. I have this crazy urge to pack up the husband and the pets, throw a few prized possessions in the car, and run as far away as a few tanks of gas will take us. Someplace warmer and drier. Someplace where we can start completely fresh, like we did when we were young and still had a sense of adventure.
This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way. Before the grandkids started arriving, I had us halfway to moving to Arizona and was actually looking for housing and jobs there. I wanted to be where there was sun and warmth and outdoor swimming pools. Then our daughter gave birth, and that was the end of that idea. I can’t even imagine living someplace where my kids are more than a few hours’ drive away….but that doesn’t stop me from fantasizing every so often. Like now.
I feel restless, full of ennui, and worst of all, trapped. Nothing is really going well; money remains problematic because everybody, his brother, and his house cat want a piece of me now that I have an actual job, and it’s making me nuts. Our one and only car is becoming quirkier every passing week, and it reminds me of nothing so much as a middle-aged grump. I am also VERY unsure of whether or not I can continue in the position; I feel totally incompetent at learning it, I don’t know if I’m cut out for it, and to be honest I don’t think it’s what I really want. At this age and stage of life, I had no intention of taking on the equivalent of nursing school, which was an enormous project even when I was thirty-six, or working this damned hard just to learn the computer programs which are only one small component of what is turning out to be a monster of a job.
This isn’t what I thought I signed on for. If I were younger and had more stamina, if my husband could travel with me, if I didn’t have so much trouble with retaining information, I probably wouldn’t think twice about pushing through the pain like I did in nursing school. But the bottom line is, I don’t think I can do this. I don’t know what else I can do either, because returning to clinical nursing is out of the question. I’m not depressed—this is situational and has nothing to do with bipolar—but when I wake up in the morning and my very first thought is of how badly I want to start throwing stuff away so we can move to a small house and I can afford to work for peanuts, life is most definitely not on the right track.