Jobby Job

I haven’t had a full-time, on the books job in almost six years.

Even though money has been tight and my spending habits have changed, I was pretty happy. I didn’t suffer from Sunday night dread. I didn’t come home exhausted and annoyed. I didn’t feel hopeless.

Perhaps I’ve just never worked at the right place or had the right attitude, but the whole 9-5 thing hasn’t gone well for me. It sort of sickens me to be a cog in a wheel, spending time and energy doing something pointless just to not have the time and energy to do the things I want. I’m a good, hard worker. But if I only have two hours of work in an eight hour day, if a guy who spends most of his time at “business lunches” and golfing with potential clients is making 1,000 times more than me, if I have to jump through hoops of fire to get a day off, I don’t really see the point in living like this, save for the fact that I need money.

I’m not sure how long I could have floated by on part-time nannying. Maybe I would have gotten tired of never having new clothes or sick days or not being able to take a vacation. Maybe not.

But I don’t have that choice anymore.

It’s probably the most selfish I’ve felt so far to not want to find a 40 hour a week job (which, lets face it, is more like 50 when you count the commute). And yet the idea of not being able to provide for my kid makes me feel like I should be applying for jobs every hour of the day. He’s growing out of his clothes every second. Our stash of gifted diapers is gone. Soon we’ll be feeding him solid food, so my free breast milk will no longer be enough.

I broke out in a sweat when I realized I was running low on toothpaste, face wash and soap all at the same time. Even though I know my parents wouldn’t let me go without the basics, I can’t keep relying on their generosity when I’m a smart, able bodied person that needs to suck it up and get back into the real world.

My resume looks terrible. At best, I could say I’m trying to “re-enter the work place” and at worst, beg for an entry-level job, all the while playing down the fact that I’ve been a supervisor twice at two different times.

I’m open to nannying, but the instability means I can’t be a breadwinner, even if I wanted to.

Some days I feel fine. I have a roof over my head, a shirt on my back, hot water, good food, and a loving, supportive environment. Other days I feel like I’m going to be stuck in my parents basement for the rest of my life and while that may not be the worst case scenario, it’s too much of a “failure” for me to handle.

Mostly because I don’t want my son to look at me that way.

So yeah. I may be the person prepping your grande latte, finding you a dressing room, or taking your order.

If I’m lucky.



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