My Dream Job

After a few years of voluntary unemployment, I got a job. I used to have a job. A professional job. I was pretty good at it and I made decent money. Sometimes I loved it. Sometimes I threatened to quit and work at the Gap. Then my circumstances changed and I was able to stay home. Ah...the coveted life of the unemployed. No job. Just laundry, and dishes, and cooking and cleaning and playing referee and chauffeur for my kids. It got old. Fast. You see, kids with trauma histories aren't always pleasant company. Not for their parents. Not for the kids in the neighborhood. Not even for your family. So I was home all day every day with these little cherubs, and totally isolated from the outside world. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Not even close. So, about a month ago, I got a job. Let me tell you, it is nothing like my previous job. I haven't applied anything I learned in college or grad school. The pay is nothing to write home about. It has nothing to do with children. Nothing to do with trauma. And I love it. For 10 whole hours a week I am transported to paradise where there is minimal stress and minimal thinking skills required. I am out in public. I can talk to other adults without being interrupted a thousand times or wondering how many children my son can injure in a 5 minute time span. I have quiet time to think, or to just be. It's the best job ever. I got my first paycheck last week. According to my calculations, after paying babysitters I made about $31 in two weeks. Some people might laugh at that. Other may cry. Me? I'm tickled pink! You mean I actually get paid to escape the craziness that is my life? Well yee haw!