The Next Chapter

Ten years ago I was a bright eyed 22 year old bursting with energy and lacking in experience (and practicality). On a whim I accepted a job with the American Red Cross, primarily because I didn’t know what else to do with myself, tossed the contents of my bedroom into several boxes, and headed west. Now, ten years, 20 (& change) lbs, and a failed marriage later I am right back where I started. The raw enthusiasm has been replaced by a sort of battle fatigue, what my sister refers to as my ‘little black rain cloud’ persona. I am NOT a little black rain cloud! It’s just that I believe in calling a spade a spade: I spent a decade wandering around in hippie dippie land (again, my sister’s term), married to a man who thought new cars were more important than rent, and basically accomplishing…….nothing. Now I’m back in Yonkers, spending my days eating frosted flakes while I look for work that doesn’t involve the phrase ‘do you want fries with that, and wishing I could turn back the clock. Speaking of which, my biological clock has been thundering in my ears of late, adding to the soundtrack of regret and self doubt. What did I say about not being a little black rain cloud? Never mind, I needed to focus on my list; step one, job! After pounding the pavement (electronically of course) I had lined up three interviews, two in queens and one in Staten Island. Who says persistence doesn’t pay off? Of course, these potential positions came with their own set of problems, mostly for my mother. Two of the positions were as a caregiver, which was the position I had before I left California. Personally, I love being a caregiver; I enjoy being on hand to enrich the lives of those in their golden years. My mother on the other hand felt I should be doing something more……more……well, just more. I suppose she isn’t wrong but…..I had to start somewhere right? Also, one of the care giving positions was in Staten Island. An hour or so away. If I drove. Which I don’t. On public transit it would take closer to two and a half which in my mother’s book (and my sister’s, and apparently everyone else’s) translated to skip it. “You’ll be so tired doing that commute everyday!, my mom explained, and when you do come home, you’ll defiantly be too tired to cook and clean!” Ah, now we come to the heart of the matter: since I got off the plane my mother has been telling me to relax, take it easy, take time to regroup. Catch my breath. Oh, and if I wanted to try out a recipe or two that would be alright. Naturally. Don’t get me wrong, making dinner every night for my family has been one of the few things that have made me feel useful since moving back home but that’s hardly a reason not to take a job in Staten Island. There are many, many reasons not to take a job in Staten Island, the list seems to grow every day, but playing Susie homemaker isn’t one of them. So Staten Island was out. As for the others, well, let’s just say they didn’t exactly pan out either, so where did that leave me? Lurking in my parent’s basement (I had progressed from the couch) watching Forensic Files. Sigh. The search continues.