I’m nothing if not resilient; my emotions had scabbed over yesterday and I had a nice evening at home with my roommate after taking a long bike ride along wooded trails. I had moved along in acceptance toward the idea of taking one of those jobs and treating it as just that, a job.
But I’m still bleeding. If I think too much about it, the tears come to my eyes. I feel like I can do almost anything that is within my control– learn how to dance ballet, to cook, to speak Spanish, to move to a new city, to travel the world– yet when it comes to those two biggies, work and love, the ones that involve factors out of my control, I can’t seem to make things work.
I probably capitulated too easily, but unfortunately, those jobs came up when they did, and I have no guarantee of what will come along in the future. It’s just so hard to know. One of my friends here, a man who used to work for me and was unable to get back into our former workplace, found a dream job at an organization here because his good friend runs it. He told me he didn’t know how he could get me a job there though– that I’d probably have to intern or volunteer with all the rest. One of my problems is that the bulk of my acquaintances do not hold positions of power, or if they do, like my former fling, they won’t help me.
The Facebook guy didn’t respond, although he had flirted with me. I halfheartedly filled out an online dating profile today, but I’m afraid that when the one response trickles in, and it’s a seventy-five-year-old die-hard Republican who lives with his mother four hours away, the scabs won’t hold.
I don’t know how much disappointment one can take in work and love, but two decades seems like more than enough.