Sitting here with a glass of cheap Riesling, a good book that is about to be devoured, mulling over my thoughts. And what do I do best when mulling thoughts? I write. So here goes…
These last couple of days have been strange ones. Step back four or five years ago and my emotions towards the last days events would have been much more positive. Yesterday, I got a call to come in for an interview at the one school I have been wanting to teach at since we moved to the area. I have been applying for jobs. So many friends have asked me why I am job hunting, this has kind of come up out of know where…or so it would seem to anyone not living inside my head. I have been going stir-crazy lately, maybe it is the winter blues, maybe it is that my kids are getting that much more independent, maybe it is just the stagnation of my life as of late. Honestly this whole post could go on into deep discussion of all the reasons why (seriously it could I just wrote and then deleted three paragraphs about it.) It simply comes down to the simple fact that way deep down in my heart of hearts I know that I need a change. I also know deep down in my hearts of hearts that this change will not hurt my babies in the slightest. Heck I was a daycare kid and now I write a BLOG! Kidding…any animal with an internet connection can write a blog. Though my grandma thinks it is pretty cool.
What this Woeful Wednesday post is all about it is…feeling woeful on a Wednesday…I don’t need to explain myself on my own blog. Geeze! I am woeful because of my craptastic performance at my interview this morning even though my outfit was to die for! I am woeful because my mind has been on Rowan a lot lately. I am woeful because life doesn’t always follow the nicely bullet-ed outline you’ve had typed up in your brain since the 7th grade. Woeful because I am not who I was four years ago…I can not figure out if I am ok with that or not. Woeful because I am trying to learn to be patient…patient for something worth waiting for. I am woeful because…well… I am a woman and we just simply get woeful. So let me sit here and cry “woe is me”, and drink my wine, and continue to let the sweet, smooth voice of my
imaginary boyfriend Bruno Mars sing to me.