Daily I find myself bouncing out of bed, pinching my arm to see if I am really free from “You’ve got to be here by X, take your lunch at Y (if we let you have one) and you can’t leave until Z (or until we have come to the conclusion that we have exceeded our quota of making everyone sufficiently miserable)” work environment.
Those candles my mother lights in church must work really well. Mental note to self: don’t piss mom off any time soon. Hmmm … no wonder my sex life is also burning about as hot as the South Pole. Beware of devout Catholic Mothers.
But I digress.
After all these years of reading , journaling, visualizing, praying and making promises I can’t keep, I finally threw caution to the wind and told myself that if I take a grand leap of faith, the universe will rise up to catch me.
And it did.
I sleep in then pull on some jeans, a favorite cotton shirt, sandals and leisurely wander out to drive ten short minutes to Heather’s home where I work as a junior web designer, manager and professional blogger.
It feels like vacation. Heather’s home is in the middle of an Oak forest just over a hill from me. Her office is on the second floor, which overlooks a grove of trees, where baby skunks, Rocky the squirrel and a plethora of birds chase each other about like they are living some Gothic tale right out of The Littles, or The Hobbit.
Heather has a Margaret Cho sense of humor and we often laugh so hard I snort. I often wonder, “Am I really getting paid for this?”
I have such a good time that I forget time and Brian will call,
“When are you coming home?”
“What time is it?”
[Insert boy sigh here]
“It’s 6:15 mom…”
“Oh, is it? I have one more thing to take care of, then I will be leaving.”
“How long will that take?”
“About 5 minutes.”
“Well I think you’ve done enough, Mom”
Hello… am I raising my father?
There is nothing more impatient than a hungry teenage boy.
He did always wait patiently by the door for the moment I walked in from my last job, exhausted at 11pm from a full day at the Symphony Box Office. As I would pull off my shoes, he’d say, “Mom, there’s got to be a better way.”
And there is.
Until next time-
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