I've always said that this is a Judaism blog, and it is, but right now, I need to talk about work. But briefly, and only because I'm sort of having a miniature meltdown. I am, for a lack of a better phrase, unravelling as I write. I did most of the unravelling earlier today near Baggage Claim No.s 11 and 12 and while standing near the America West exit, waiting for the Economy Lot shuttlebus. Why? I'll tell you why.
The trip was fantastic. The weather was perfect (upper 70s/lower 80s and cool at night) and I was fascinated by the palm trees. I was shmoozed, taken out for lunch and dinner, given muffins and breakfast foods for my flight, talked to by everyone (but the editor in chief, interestingly) and treated like royalty. They love me, they really love me (note: that isn't the real Sally Field quote). I had moments of "this is the place for me" and moments of "this paper needs so much work, inside and out." Then there was lunch at In-N-Out with a man initialed R. He made me laugh and I felt like I'd found Jerry incarnate. But it was quickly over and I was back in the newsroom taking tests (which I love; that is, copy editing tests I love). I passed with swimming colors (save the geography, which I suck at. Mt. Everest, anyone?). They offered me a position, a very good, stable, insurace-filled and Sabbath-off filled position. And they gave me less than 48 hours to decide if I want it. And I was feeling good.
But I didn't sleep much. In fact, I haven't slept but maybe 20 hours in the past week. And here I am, sitting at the blog, tapping away. For what? I don't know. I need to sound off. I've sounded off to BVK and to Jerry (thank G-d for him, my knight in shining armor). And it seems to come down to certain things. But first, I've been up since 2:30 a.m. I sat at the airport for ages. I spent all day on the plane watching Robin Williams in "RV" while eating cheese and fruit from a plastic aiport-chic container. I got off the plane, glad to be home, and my luggage was missing. My luggage WAS MISSING. So I cried. All my work clothes in that black piece of crap. My makeup. My clips -- all of my clips. My cellphone charger. All the things I really need. Several hundred dollars worth of stuff in that little black piece of shit. And where is it? I don't know. Expensive bras (that fit!), underwear, a blazer, some tanktops, capris -- all the things I bought NOT on sale. The expensive, nice things. Gone in an airport cart somewhere. So I cried. I cried all the way to work, where I worked till 1:30 a.m. Nearly 24 hours of nonstop shit. I glazed over at work and ordered Greek food and fucked up some stories and felt like crawling into a hole.
My boss wasn't there. I had to harrass her while she was caring for an ailing father, just to find out what my incentive for staying put is. But I did, because I NEED to know if I can have my Shabbat if I stay at the Post. Rather, it's the only way I'll stay at the Post.
But I came to find out, thanks to Bremerton Boy in the shuttlebus at 3 a.m. telling me, that Palm Trees really aren't native to California. Well, that's half true. A certain type is, but they're not the type you see everywhere. They are NOT the quintessential California palm tree that I have imagined in my mind. That disappoints. And who wants to drive to the mountains for snow? I want it right there, in front of me. I want sweaters and scarves, damnit. And the town is the size of Lincoln. It was like ... Lincoln a la Hawaiian theme. I love Lincoln, but if I want Lincoln, I'll live in Lincoln. There's a Temple, but it's pretty big and it's reform. I really want to start going to a Conservative shul. Why? Because I'm searching for something.
So I have till 5 p.m. California time to figure myself out. That gives me a few hours to sleep and a few hours to clear my mind and create a clear, coherent train of thought that hopefully won't result in me being worse off. Though the JMan tells me it's impossible to have a bad choice here. I just have to weigh what I want. One is a full-time gig with benefits and a moving package and the other is just an extension with no medical and uncertainty. I prefer to work outside the box, but when it comes to these kinds of things, I don't know. This is real life. I got my loan bill schedule in the mail. Insurance is a big thing. I may not get sick much, but damn if I'm giving up the b.c.
I think I've answered my own question, but I wonder what my motives REALLY are. I'm half-assing my intensity for the business anymore, and I don't want to mislead anyone. I either need to be reminded of why I love this, or I need to run for the hills. Either way, I will get Shabbat, and I think that's a good starting point.
Shalom Aleichem. Lilah Tov.