I had a great disappointment last week. The word "disappointment" isn't big enough to describe what happened.
After six months of working with another institution to shape a job that was, in fact, perfect for me, at the last minute it fell through.
In my head, I already had the job -after all, I had been living with the idea for six months. I had a place to live and had checked out Meet-up groups and parishes.
Friday, in terms of Worst Days Ever, ranks up there with the deaths of my mother and brother, and getting kicked out of the convent.
It wasn't just a job. It was my way out of a situation I find hopeless, without purpose, and suffocating.
This morning, I told the one work colleague I had shared this with that I was not actually going anywhere.
She smiled hugely and said, "I am so happy! I don't want you to go. You make this place livable. I know I should be sorry for you, but really, I'm just happy for me."
I hugged her but kinda wanted to smack her. I do not know why I am still here. Leaving is one thing I usually do really well!
Today, I am back at work, printing off spreadsheets and prepping to make calls and doing the job I am paid pretty well to do. Enough wallowing in self-pity.
As for the rest of it, I will have to live with the mystery.
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