Dear Dear

I've had a difficult time jumping back into blogging. Maybe you noticed. Maybe you're not there any longer.

May for Mary gave me a chance to blog without saying anything, which made it harder to jump back in.

So, yesterday, having had one of the crappiest days I've had since February 18, I decided to write a letter, to Dear, whomever Dear may be. I hope it's you, but even if it isn't, maybe some part of me will benefit from writing to Dear.

Life, Dear, has not been good, at least not in the way I have known life all my life. It's been hard, and each day I would like to disappear into myself a little more.

We had Faith's Confirmation on May 20 and family came to town, so that was a little distracting. Then  came Memorial Day which also was my mom's birthday, and that was distracting. Then we had two weeks of dress rehearsals and dance recitals and I was a backstage mom, so that was distracting. This week Faith is taking summer gym, which means she is gone all day, and while I have plenty of things I need to do, which could be distracting, there is too much quiet, and so I think.

Some people would likely be glad to have my life, bumps in the road and all. But I'm having a hard time adjusting to the hairpin turn we are making.

Since I last wrote nothing has changed. No job. Not even an interview. It's hard to believe a man can build his career for 30 years and then, well, nothing. It seems his field has been taken over by women, and, at the risk of sounding misogynistic, women in the field of fundraising (and probably many more) don't want to hire men, or at least men who have more experience than they. Every hope so far has been dashed by a woman who either doesn't want men in her department, or is intimidated by a man with so many contacts and so much experience in his field. I've always believed that to be good at what you do, you surround yourself with good people, but that's apparently not the case today.

There are a few "hopes' on the horizon, although they are very slow-moving and they are not in Columbus, but close enough to make a three-hour round trip commute each day. I'm hoping that one of these opportunities works out, even if it means my husband lives away during the week, or spends 15 hours each week driving to work and back, because at least we'll have income and medical insurance.

I have said I will pack up and move. I have said I will (gladly) downsize. My husband wants neither. It's difficult to know when to push. The lease on the car the boys used was up June 1, so we were down to my car and his truck with three drivers. Yesterday, he went and sold his truck, so, we're down to one car. It is going to prove interesting at the least. We have to keep a calendar so we don't double book ourselves.

I am looking for a job. I had hoped that once Faith was in school, I would be able to increase my stock in my shop, and sell locally through an art market, but we can't wait that long. Then I had hoped to get some freelance copyediting work, but I don't think that will happen quickly enough. So, I may just end up working for a temp agency or taking any reasonable job I can find. Being out of the field for 14 years has me pretty much starting over.

Doug is still planning on Faith attending Catholic high school in the fall, which I think is being very optimistic. There are no scholarships, as they have all been dolled out. Unless she finds herself a fairy Godmother, I'm pretty sure we're living in fairy land ourselves thinking we can pay tuition. Severance runs out this month. After June 24, we'll be on unemployment, something I never thought I'd say, and we'll have to find affordable medical insurance. Yesterday we met with our financial adviser, who handles our retirement, and he recommended connecting with the local food pantry. Since February 18, we have fallen pretty far.

Some days I cry. Yesterday was one of those days, especially, after I slammed my thumb in the car door -- the cherry on top of my crap day. Some days I just figure this is where God wants me, on a dung heap of sorts. I trust in Him. I believe He knows right where we are meant to be, but like all people suffering, even in their little way, it's hard to believe God wants that. It's the "it's going to get worse before it gets better" part that is hard to live with. I can do without, I'm my grandmother's granddaughter -- a woman who had no more than three rooms in her entire life, even with six children. I am content with little, but I am not driving this car, and frequently the driver doesn't listen to my directions.

What am I to do, Dear?