Anxiety attack.

2004-10-25 at 7:44 p.m.

Here I am, going through a giant two-year reevaluation and realignment. I had a good job in Chicago (okay, sure it was a soul-sucking job, but it paid, LORD did it pay), Andrew had a good job. We had two cars and owned our own home. We were within three hours of his parents, four of mine.

We gave it all up and moved out here. I haven't had a real job in almost two years, people. I just couldn't get a job. Going back to school was right for me, but in the meantime, jobless me has racked up some more serious debtness.

I haven't had a real job in almost two years. Did I say that?

And here I am about to be a math teacher, right? There's always a market for math teachers.

Except maybe this year.

and I'd really like to have a job again. I vaguely recall having one.

Sometimes it feels like every Next Step, every Next Thing, depends on me having a job. House? Not until I'm employed. Pay off debt? Not very fast until I have a job. Kids? Not until we have a house and have paid off some of our debts. Vacation?

Ha.

So about that job thing? Apparently there's a glut of math teachers. There's too many, I think. I've heard.

Hence the meltdown. As I'm nearing the end of my program, (about twenty weeks left, Yee Ha!) the anxiety of finding permanent employment is starting to eat away at my stomach lining.

Because you know what? Despite every hoity toity reason we had for moving out here, it all comes to this: I want to be employed, gainfully, making a contribution to making our family work.

And y'all? I reeeeally want a job.

So thank you, Andrew, for patting my shoulder as I Drama Queened all over the living room.

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