A Real Job? Really?

I hadn't planned on rejoining the ranks of the actively wage-earning employed, but without thinking about it, I seem to have a job.

I wasn't completely passive about it--I filled out an application, I put on some big-girl shoes and went to an interview. But I was amazed at how casually I approached the whole process. I really didn't care if I got the job or not. My attitude during the interview was completely relaxed, without any hesitation or double-thinking about what the "right" answer was to any question. And when they didn't call back to tell me I had the job, I didn't spend even a moment in self-castigation or regret.

And then, they called and offered me the job. Now what? I guess I have to go, they seem to want me. No one could be more surprised than I.

So here's the deal: I will be working at the H.B. Stamps Memorial Library on Tuesdays and Thursdays from noon until 8 pm, and one Saturday per month. At a truly ridiculous wage, less than I was making 30 years ago. But I am mildly interested, completely confident that I can do this without too much aggravation or inner turmoil, and it's time.

I haven't worked for regular wages for nine years. I have done odd jobs like managing the rental properties, and run my eBay auctions, and done direct sales, but nothing that would be considered a "real" job for a very long time. It made sense when the kids were at home and Bill was at sea--when I was employed (part-time), the job had to fit into my primary role as parent. It also made sense while we were trying to make our wreck-of-a-house livable, and I was up to my ears in lumber, drywall and paint.

But I have grown a little bored with my hermit-like existence on the mountain, and I need to think about the future. No one is going to hire me full-time when my last real job was in 2000. We need to start aggressively saving for retirement, and this is my first tentative step back into mainstream employment. I like books. I like libraries. I guess I can tolerate dressing up and being an adult for two days a week.

I start "training" on September 21. I will have to shake off my post-cancer ennui, and deign to show some enthusiasm, I suppose. I am wary of getting too excited, presumably protecting myself from disappointment if it doesn't work out. Deep down, there's a small hope that maybe this baby-step towards rejoining life again will open up other possibilities, and I will finally be able to "move on" from the emotional doldrums I've been in since I got that life-changing diagnosis two years ago.

I'll just have to wait and see what happens.