Tomorrow I have an interview that I am pretty excited about about. Another one of those friend of a friend..."Yeah, forward my resume" sort or things. I am meeting with a lady from HR and the gentleman whose name hangs over the door. I'll brush off my black skirt suit (sans pantyhose) and head out the door at 1:00 with my flip-flops on and 3" heels in tow.
I submitted an essay today and keep writing. I've enjoyed physically writing on a yellow tablet with an actual pen these past few days- taking in the last moments of warmth. But when I do this, write out words on paper, I think how I will probably never re-write it on the computer and it will never be made into anything more. No essay or story or quirky recollection of a time long ago. Oh well.
So, I made a list of why I want to go back to work. Not the real reasons like: I get bored and antsy in a 500 square foot apartment, or I refuse to sit another long, miserable winter in this box in the sky, or that I feel as if I need to justify my existence with something.... something other than a child.
So, if we had money- money besides the amount we barely squeak by on each month- then I would be able to:
1. Take that Yoga class
2. Get $100 haircuts and bikini waxes
3. Buy healthier foods for Chris and me (maybe cook a little more instead of relying on pancake mixes and frozen pizzas)
4. Possibly get cable TV(this, again, is something Chris sacrificed)
5. Get a massage from time to time
6. Spend money on coffee or yogurt or a $10 eyeshadow without feeling guilty
7. Wine
8. Use shower gel and not Ivory bar soap that I buy 4/$1.00
9. Musicals and museums and live music events
10. Keep the motorcycle, maybe...
Not that it's all about the money, but I am realizing that I am inhibited from doing alot. Plus, when there are weddings and birthdays and babies I realize that we have no wiggle room. And honestly, I want to be able to enjoy the city we live in. This summer I relied heavily on my free entertainment: running in the park, working out downstairs in the weight-room and soaking up rays on the sun-deck. Pretty lame, I admit.
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