One of those days

Fuck. This past weekend SUCKED. It wasn’t any one thing that made me miserable. Actually, Sunday was one of the most gorgeous days I can remember experiencing ever. But everything sucked. And I woke up this morning and everything is still sucking. Except for my daughters, who remain the best people in the house.

The quest for a job, full-time, part-time, is proving difficult. Not surprising, but disappointing nonetheless. I had an incredible interview for a Web Editor position at a local online newspaper last week. Very friendly, energetic, seemed like they were happy to see me. But when they finished their schpiel, sounding like this was a seven day per week job, asking how many hours per week this job entailed, one of my interviewers said “70-80 hours per week”. I laughed. Can you imagine? SEVENTY HOURS?! That would be like having two full-time jobs. On top of the full-time job I would have in the evenings with my daughters who would be strung out from all daycare, all the time. Wow. I don’t believe all the jobs out there, all one billion of them, are in search of someone who can be available, on call, always. Right? I mean, is there something I have forgotten since I worked a full-time job? Last I recall at my late, great, not for profit, aid organization job, 35 hours/week meant I was working full-time. I would like very much to keep that memory aflame.

So what does this lack of interviews, leading to a job mean for me?


  • I love spending time with my daughters. We will continue spending all day, every day together.
  • I will be able to spearhead potty training this summer, on our own schedule, in the healthiest, least baggage-y way possible.
  • Me and the girls can keep up the good work of being outside in the warm weather, going to the zoo, hanging at playgroup once a week, playing at the playground, etc.
  • I won’t have to worry about taking time off work to match husband’s time off work if we want to take a trip.
  • We won’t have to get up at ungodly hours of the morning, fighting to get to pre-school before work every day.
  • There will be no separation anxiety for me or Mimi and Beenie.


  • Will I ever become a productive (read: money earning) member of society again?
  • Will I always be the person who is responsible for housework/cleaning?
  • I may never re-enter the job market again, not as a sane person (though I have not been a sane person for years now).
  • My ever-dwindling sense of self
  • My total lack of power in the household dynamic, not including being the person who can take the girls down from DEFCON 10 to DEFCON 2 in 15 minutes or less. I know this is no small task. It earns me no money, tho. And it should. Huge amounts of it.

Today is dedicated to me feeling sorry for myself. Waah waah waaaah!


  1. it’s rough that you equate cash with self and status and equality in your relationship. not surprising, since we live in a capitalist, consumerist society in which everything revolves around the cash nexus, but rough all the same. just because you aren’t bringing in the cash doesn’t mean you aren’t contributing a whole lotta value to your household and family — in many ways more than the cash-producing member of your family, in my opinion. maybe you can use your time away from the office to read up on some feminist lit and remind yourself not to fall for the u.s. societal lie that value = money. is this the lesson you want to teach the girls — that they are only worth the money they earn? by this standard, most of the people you love are falling way short since most of us have chosen other (cash-poor) paths.

    love you, julie. we can still see you even if you sometimes lose sight of yourself.

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