I gave myself three months. Three months to find a new job. I really, really didn’t want to go back to my existing job, so I gave myself the duration of my maternity leave to find a new job. My, highly unethical plan, don’t say I gave you the idea, was to use up all my leave and at the last minute give my notice. Of course, in my mind I was going to find the perfect job, a perfect job that would start exactly when my leave ran out so I wouldn’t have to go back, but also, wouldn’t have to be without health insurance. While I was at it I should also have been wishing myself a million dollars, or maybe a mansion with full staff.
I spent three months sitting on my couch, nursing my voracious baby, and thinking that I had a ton of time to find the job of my dreams. I sent out a few resumes and went on one interview. But guess what I didn’t do today, two weeks before I’m due to go back to work? I didn’t give notice. Because I don’t have another job lined up. And because I’m a responsible grown-up who, as tempting as it may be, can’t quite let herself just quit.
M hesitantly tells me that we could survive if I quit. He hates to see me miserable so much that he’d be willing to deplete our meager savings to let me stay home while I find the perfect job. But I can’t bring myself to do it. If I had a concrete plan I might agree, but right now my life plan seems to be “I dunno, write? Stuff? In a coffee shop? You know? Or maybe get a job? Where I can write?” And I looked, but Monster doesn’t have that category listed. And so that plan doesn’t seem too sound.
And so, until someone walks in and tells me that they finally found someone willing to buy me coffee and give me health insurance while I write my first novel, I’m going back to work where I’ll be making people’s photocopies and sitting in meetings where no one really wants my opinion. Yay me.
Next week Little L and I enjoy one last week on our own. The following week she starts daycare very part time, and the week after that… it’s back to the grindstone. Bah…