The past couple of days have been... interesting. Not in any fun sense- nothing new or exciting, but just out of the ordinary. We were discussing finances, and while not really depressing in and of itself, the conversation left me in a funk. the pertinent points are:
- I need to go back to work
- I don't want to go back to work (or, more truthfully and as I told Tom, the thought of leaving my kids again to go back to work is physically painful)
And so we talked about that and Tom decided it was time for him to start hunting for a new job. And that's the majority of my funk.
I don't want to make Tom find a new job. He loves LQ, he's been there long enough that he gets 3 (soon to be 4) weeks paid vacation a year, he gets a very nice longevity bonus each year, he's one of the best in the company at tech, but it's looking like unless we're willing and able to relocate (which, realisticly we are in no position to do), a promotion is nowhere in sight. It's pretty well a dead end situation currently, but again, he loves working there. However valid the logic, I do not want to be the reason he leaves a job he loves. I remember how miserable I was at Circuit, and I don't want him to feel that- not because of me. (Yes, admittedly this is a worst case scenario, but unfortunately, I know more people who hate their jobs than even enjoy them.)
I started feeling like I was being horribly selfish to want to stay home. After all, he's been going to work still ever since Will was born. Other women don't necessarily get to stay home, no matter how much they might want to. So who am I to ask him to find a new job just so I can? I don't mind being a selfish bitch over some things, but I can't stand feeling that way over something like this. So, I'm in between the proverbial rock and hard place- which can I live with? Do I let (and feel like I'm making) Tom find a new job, or do I bite the bullet and leave the kids?
At this point, I'm so confused about my feelings that I'm afraid to make any decision. My brain feels like it's simultaniously stalled and spinning a thousand miles a minute. I'm honestly shocked at how strongly I want to stay home. It's not like it's a cakewalk. There are days that I feel like I'd jump at the chance to hand the kids off to someone competent and run back to work, days that I'd rather torch the house than clean it, and in the rare free moment, I still find it odd that I've gone from being mortally insulted when a childhood friend told me that she though I'd be a good housewife to desperately wanting just that. But most days, I love being able to spend time with Will and Emmy, even if it is chasing after him while holding her and wondering at just what point I lost my mind. I've always felt like a study in dicotomy, but especially now. I'm a homemaker who also supports NOW (among other political groups). Then again, I think being a feminist means working to open every possible option for women, and one of those options is the freedom to stay home. It's not just about being able to get any job you're qualified for, or abortion rights, or any of that- it's being able to make the right choice for your life. But enough politicizing- I digress.
My life would be perfect if stay-at-home moms were paid. I don't mean give out welfare. I mean honest to god recognition that it is a career, not even a job. We pay babysitters, we pay daycare centers, we hand out welfare to some (I know not all) people who are just too lazy to get a job. It's especially disgusting if you look at the figures for what a person would make doing the same general responsibilities for a company. I know I'm politicizing again, not to mention bitching, but I would far rather be paid a small salary to run my household and raise my kids well than recieve social security, even if it meant I had to go back to work once Will and Em are grown and could never retire. It would be worth it. I should read less, or at least different books, because a common notion in most of the novels I've read lately includes paying stay-at-home moms. Not much, but at least something in recognition of the work they do, not just for their family, but for society at large.
But alas, my life is not perfect. I don't get paid for my main career, so I have to either get a job or my husband has to get a new one. I still can't figure out which is the fairer option. On the one hand, Tom suggested getting a new job. I've thought it, but never been willing to bring it up because I didn't want to force him into it. On the other hand, I don't want him to eventually blame me for making him leave the job he enjoys so much. I haven't made any crazy purhases, or even any questionable ones. I've done what I can think of to help us save money on the everyday stuff, and I've cut out the vast majority of the stuff we don't need (I couldn't make myself completely give up the occassional Starbucks trip). I've been in charge of them for years, so I feel responsible for the state of our finances, and I feel like I should be responsible for fixing them. I've done my best, but it's not really enough. The sad thing is, we're not even in trouble- it's just inertia. If we don't get some positive momentum going, we very well could get into trouble.
I just can't figure out the least of the evils.
And so, I've been on auto-pilot the past couple days. It doesn't help that I've hit a sophmore slump with NaNo that I've got to force my way through- that's next on the agenda tonight/ this morning. Strangely, last year is both encouraging me to have a repeat success, and encouraging me to stop now. Amid the crazy buzz of excitement is the little voice saying "you've not even finished editting the piece of reeking shit you wrote last year, and you're going to have another turd lying around?!". I'm no longer even sure that I'll hit the 50K mark this time. I know the story is capable of it, and probably even 75-100K. I just don't know if I am. I do know that if I don't get back to it now, I won't finish the novel at all. I think that would be the final slap in the face for me and writing. I can handle the extremely bitter realization that most of my writing is mediocre at best- mediocre can be improved. But somehow I still feel like a fraud for wanting to be a consistently paid published writer. I have no doubt that I can if I put the work into it, but then again, neither does anyone else. Which raises the question, am I really any good? And either way, why am I writing anymore? Is it because I enjoy it and think other people will enjoy my stories? Or is it just because I've been doing it for so long and I'm in love with the idea?
The good news is that I know the funk will pass. Today was better than yesterday, and tomorrow will be better still, I'm sure. And even better will be to get more done on the novel. I've noticed that I feel better on the days I write than on the days I don't, even if it means running on little to no sleep. I know I could easily work writing into every single day, at least a little bit, but for some reason it's easier to write for long stretches at a time. Great for a writing career in terms of getting books written, but bad for a mother of 2 young children. Oh well, I'm almost 2/5 of the way done with the NaNo requirement (only slightly behind schedule, and that should be rectified by the end of the next writing session), and we'll see where the novel goes from there. With enough polishing, I know both of them could be published. I just need to finish this one first, then work on fumigating them.
OK, time to get to work. **Deep breath**
OK. Good to go.