Quicksand

The job posting on my computer screen looks enticing.

Something I think I could do. Something I think I might like to do. Something that looks like it might pay a little more than minimum wage. Something OUT OF THE HOUSE.

Cool.

But I hesitate.

Why?

No, I haven't gotten lazy. I haven't grown accustomed to sitting on my couch, watching soap operas and eating bon bons all day.

And it's not that I'm just loving staying home, waiting for the mother-in-law to wake up, to decide what she wants to eat for breakfast, what she wants to wear, what she wants to eat for lunch, what she wants for a snack,  what she wants for dinner and what time she wants to go to bed.

That's not it.

I want to go to work.

I want to have a purpose.

I want to have a reason to wear makeup and fix my hair.

I want to wear something besides sweats every day.

I want to get out of here and away from the goddam beeper she uses to summon me.

But.

I don't know where to go.  I don't know what I want to do. I don't know what I want to be.

Do I want to get certified to teach?  Do I want to be a PR person? A writer? A retail salesman? A sandwich artist? A domestic?

I don't know if I have the skills. This isn't what I've done for the past 30 years. This is something entirely different. What if I can't? What if I suck?

Then.

Do I really want to drive downtown every day for a job? Pay for gas? Pay to park?

And does it make financial sense for me to go to work and then hire someone else to stay with Jane every day? Do I really want another person roaming around  my house? (The first one didn't work out so well).

Then too.

I'm loving being a freelance writer. I love being able to cover sports and news. I love writing stories more than six inches long. That I can see in the newspaper. That I can clip and save. That will go in other people's scrapbooks.

I love the opportunities I've been given as a freelancer, to cover wonderful events, to spread my own wings and challenge myself as a writer.

I  love being able to say, "No. I'm not available that day."

And.


I haven't done half the things I said I was going to do, that I wanted to do when this whole involuntary "sabbatical" began.  I still have a list. A long one, of things to do. For me.

But time is running out.

So I do nothing.

I don't click. I don't upload my cover letter and resume. I just sit and stare.

I feel like I'm stuck in quicksand, unable to move forward, unable to get out. Not on my own. I'm stuck in place and have no idea what to do about it.


I'm just waiting for the rope.