...as what feels like a headlong rush straight into a brick wall continues.
At least it begins to look as if a few of those too, too solid bricks are falling away before I conk my noggin on them.
First, a very dear friend -- sometimes referred to as Red Hot Riding Hood, which is a bit of an inside joke between us -- emailed me about a job opening she'd seen. She thought it might be something for me.
I got the email first thing Monday morning, and applied before I'd finished my coffee. I had a reply within a few hours, had an email exchange with the guy posting the ad, and a phone interview last night. The guy still seems positive, and we'll talk again next week.
This is good. Also bad. It's my kind of work, but it involves a major relocation, in itself not a bad thing, but somewhat problematic in several ways. I'm not talking about conflicting emotions, but rather some major practical issues I'm not sure can be resolved.
It's something I would have jumped at at age 28 -- and in fact did, moving 1200 miles for a job -- or even at age 38. Or age 48, comes to that.
But at age 58, it looks like just another major hurdle, and I'm tired.
I have cheerleaders, bless 'em: "RHRH," of course, and my friend "Juan," who has actually uprooted himself and set off down the road with remarkably positive results.
But they're not here at 3:00 a.m., when I wake up wide-eyed and wonder how the hell I can manage what seems simply impossible to me.
Enough of all that. I have a few days to ponder the whole thing before my next interview. Who knows what'll happen in that time?
I do. At least three things. First, thanks to the generosity of an anonymous angel, I'll do some major grocery shopping. In today's mail, a gift card for a market -- not the Happy Hindu -- along with a cute photo book and a card with a comforting message. Another person on a lengthening list of people to whom I am so grateful. I'm only sorry I don't know who she (I think) is so I could thank her personally.
Tomorrow, I'll drive D. to his oral surgeon's office so he can have a couple of teeth extracted. Can't drive himself home when he's drugged out.
And Friday, I'll be visiting another chiropractor, this one recommended by D.'s girlfriend, Nurse S. X-rays and therapy. I hope this works; my back is ready for amputation.
So these are good things, yes? Well, they are. But I have been facing that brick wall long enough that I am wary of good things. My problem, of course. But it's an all-too-genuine concern. I know that, given a shot, I can take a good run at getting things back together. It's simply that the "shot" hasn't materialized up to now. And I worry that I'm less capable of getting things right; I'm older, and lonely, and close to feeling defeated by the events of this year.
Doesn't mean I won't try. But the vicious circle has me surrounded, and I can't allow myself to hope to manage a breakout. Right now, anyway.
3 hours ago