He Touched Me Again

He touched me again. I don't mean physically, I just mean that, once again, he put his proverbial finger into my symbolic chest and reminded me that he still has control.

It's been six months, three weeks, and two days since I left, and yes, I am counting. But even after six months, three weeks, and two days, he's able to send my tummy into jelly. He's able to make my hands shake. He's able to get me to gobble down chocolate, and tuck my head in between my shoulders to try to hide.

Just because I left doesn't mean it's over.


Monday, February 28, 2011

Directions: Shoot Foot.

I bet there was more than one sailor who, after having gotten used to life on the ship, spied land in his glass and said about the shadow on the horizon, “Turn back! It’s a Sea Serpent!” instead of “Land, ho!”

We may daydream of the great things we would have accomplished, if not for the twisting of fate and of life. We may feel tired and colorless, bored and listless. We may even dare to polish off our resumes and dream about new companies.

But we generally stop there.

I actually caught myself speaking to a recruiter this morning. The job was for a position out of state (which I wanted); it paid better than my current job; and included a lot of the activities I loved in my current job without a lot of the activities I didn’t love. I was thrilled to write my cover letter, and even more thrilled when she contacted me and wanted to hear more. And when she came on the line, I didn’t question the sweating palms or breathlessness. I was excited, right?

A few months ago, I asked my son how he liked his first year in public school. He said it was OK, and then, in a small voice he asked, “Mom, can I go to the same school next year?”

“Of course, honey!” I sang.

The whole scene comes to me as I am telling the recruiter exactly what she needs to hear to place me in the running for this job. Suddenly, my throat and chest swell up with guilty anxiety. I can’t move out of state! I promised my son that he could go to the same school next year! I scrambled to think of things to say that would tell the recruiter the position she had wasn’t for me. And then—voila!—she asked me if I had been using a certain program for a long time. “Oh no,” I answered. “I’d say less than six months.”

“Oh. Well, this position is for someone who has used the program for 3-5 years.”

Whew!

It took me a little bit to catch myself: had I just shot myself in the foot? What was that, looking to get out of a job interview that I had applied for on purpose? For which I had been nearly jumping up and down a few days before? I had remembered my son’s request when I applied, and it hadn’t been a deal-breaker then!

If a door opens in a forest and we slam it back shut right away, was it ever really an option?

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