“Anytime you suffer a setback or disappointment, put your head down and plow ahead.”
– Les Brown
Kittens, I’m bitter. Talking it over with Peregrine helped, as it so often does, to really organize my bitterness into manageable and coherent issues and I finally realized why I’m so disappointed – you know, besides the fact that my best friend and lover is moving to London without me.
The real problem is that I feel horribly left behind. I gladly put J.’s schooling at the top of my priority list and considered my ambitions and goals on hold and never considered it a burden or bad decision. I still don’t. I can write from anywhere, but there are only a few really great schools for accounting and finance and I was perfectly content to go where he schooling took us, and wherever his jobs will too. But suddenly, I’m not going with him anymore (and yes, I know I am eventually, but just indulge me in this mini sulk, alright?) and I’m not sure how that fits in.
I’ve delayed grad school or other academic ambitions, writing is hard when you can’t really devote yourself to it because you’re earning the bread/bringing home the bacon/whatever, and I’ve stayed an extra three years in my dinky university town waiting for him to catch up to me in schooling. And now, the sacrifice I was willing and glad to make (and still am!) isn’t really paying out the way I thought it would.
I hear you now, “G’DUH, Small Dog. Welcome to life, you whiner.” You’re right, I’m sure, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment.
I’m grateful to have a job, goodness knows not everyone does these days. I’m proud to be able to support my family and keep us out of debt while we finished up undergraduates, internships, and the first few years of marriage. I’m ludicrously proud of J. and what he’s achieved and thrilled about where he got into school…
But what about me?
Yes, I’m perfectly aware of how selfish that sounds, but I can’t help it. What about me and what I wanted and planned for? Three years isn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, but honestly it has seemed horrendously long to me. I’ve been working a job that I can say I am grateful for and usually enjoy (and you can bear witness that the stories I’ve got out of it are amazing, eh, ducklings?), but I don’t want to be a police department receptionist for the rest of my life. It’s a job without the possibility of promotion or progression. Ditto really for the town we currently live in, and frankly most cities compare unfavorably to London. J. really was the only reason I stayed where I am now…and he’s leaving. I’m having a weird time processing that.
So, I’m bitter. Six more months of slogging (yeah yeah, I hear you again, “Cry me a river, C.”) past when I thought I’d be moving on and forward with our/my lives/life. It’s not the great tragedy I’m making it out to be, I know that, but it’s still not…what I planned. And I hate having my plans messed up!
At the same time, I’m feeling a little smug that I’m holding up as well as I am. I’ve only really whined to Venice, Peregrine, and Hennessy, and in the meantime I have packed up a third of my house to store (the reason for which you will just have to wait and see!), kitted J. out fully in sweaters and suits, researched places to live, made due when Her Majesty’s Government turned our plans on their heads, and generally kept on keeping on. I’m tired, disappointed, but proud and damned effective.
Rant over! Thanks for listening, kittens, you’re all sorts of awesome. But you knew that.