Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Vent

So in my banner I write about how I put things on this blog so I won't send those who love me screaming into the night. But I never do that. I keep it all light, for the most part. So here it is, at least some of what I'm thinking. It's a bit of a pity party, but I'm getting it off my chest and they're my feelings, so leave the judgments elsewhere.

Heard today that one of the teachers who has been out for six years on maternity leave wants to do a job share (half the day) with another teacher who's currently out on maternity leave as well. If the other two who do a job share currently go for it again, which they probably will, this means no positions are open next year. Mind you, two MORE teachers in my department are pregnant and will probably take a year off, so that's good if I get one of their positions. But it just reminds me of how completely tenuous my position is here. I try never, ever, to talk about my job too specifically on this blog, but I'm just so tired of watching other women do what I so desperately want to do: Start a family and take off a little work, and then have a job to come back to. I'm going to be 33 years old and I've got people telling me I should do fertility testing in case I have trouble conceiving because I'm not getting any younger. I know full well how old I am. Eff off.

On the one hand, every time I've freaked out about my job situation, I have been extremely fortunate in that I always found a job. I know I'm good at what I do, plus I'm getting a second certification in Special Ed, so I should be able to find something. Selfishly, I would love to stay in the same building I've been in for the past 2 1/2 years and not start over again, putting myself at the bottom of the totem pole, at risk for budget cuts and adrift once again. I know I shouldn't complain because in an unbelievably difficult market, I have a job. I'm pretty sure I'll get one somewhere next year with my credentials. I just have those irrational fears that get in the way, my stupid biological clock's ticking (and I thought it was a MYTH...it's SO NOT, for me at least), and I know it's logical and right to wait until May when I know more of what's happening to me next year, but I'm damned impatient. I feel this also makes me sound as if my current life is unsatisfying or insufficient; it's not at all. I know how deeply fortunate I am to have the home, husband, job, and life that I have.

I just get scared and jealous, if I'm being totally honest. I feel that part of our life is on hold due to circumstances totally beyond our control and it makes me insane. It's not anyone's fault that things are this way. I've had people blame my husband for my frustration, and I find that unfair and wrong and none of their business. This is how I feel right now. Later, I'll be fine and I'll deal and I know everything will work out. In my head, I know that. But I got on Blogger at a weak moment and here it all is, raw and mostly unedited. It's also Tuesday, and for some reason Tuesdays kick my butt. I think it's because on Monday you have the cushion of the weekend but once it's Tuesday, it's just...Tuesday.

However, I have good hair today and a sweet puppy waiting and a loving husband and leftovers in the fridge, and that's saying a lot. I'll go with that. It's more than enough.

3 comments:

Yum said...

Dude: I FEEL YOU.
That is all.

Actually, people would probably pay to watch me feel you, so if we both wanted a career switch...
No. Nonononononono. Just kidding.

Ouiser said...

i love you.

Wonderland said...

You are WONDERFUL. And I find it interesting that you promised us that you would VENT, but then you cushioned all your venting with rational, reasonable, inteligent-Frau-logic the whole way through. One of these days, I wanna see a screamming angry post in capital leters and full of blepped out cuss words! Cus, honey, even though you are MARVELOUS at talking yourself through your frustrations (an admirable skill!), you are indeed, in a very frustrating place that you have every right to stamp your foot about occasionally. And if not to us, than to whom? (And maybe I'm just saying this because I don't live with you, so I don't get to see you get angry and frustrated. Hopefully, next year?). I love you.