Despite my best intentions to "never blog about work", it's no secret that I loathe the job I'm currently at. It's hostile, it's boring, and I'm sure it's at least partly responsible for my early onset of menopause. Some days I imagine leaving that job would be like a physical weight being lifted from me. My life would suddenly be rainbows and puppies, I'd instantly drop 30lbs, and angels would sing constantly.
And I'm trying very hard to make that happen. Unfortunately, I do need some job, and they're hard to come by. I seem to be in the grey zone for employability - overeducated for a regular joe job, but not the right KIND of education for anything higher up. Stupid Fine Arts degree.
Hubby, bless his heart, occasionally pitches me an idea for re-arranging our lives so that I don't have to spend as much time at work. As it is, though, I can only stand to be there 4 days a week (and I'm lucky that my job is that flexible, as my boss keeps reminding me), so money is...a little pinchy. Nevertheless, the other day hubby offered, "If I give you another $100 each paycheck could you drop down to 3 days a week?"
I've no idea where he was planning to find this unicorn money (I'm not sure I want to know), but the answer was actually "no". That wouldn't make up for the lost income. Anyway, I don't think my boss is THAT flexible with my hours - he complains about the missing day each week already.
"What if I cleaned the house on Wednesdays and we got rid of the cleaners?" he added.
Got rid of the...my...my cleaners? My beloved cleaners? Gah. Actually...yes...that would just about do it. Though I still don't think the boss is going to agree to only 3 days a week.
"Oh. Well, I could still do the cleaning thing and free up some money," hubby offered.
I am not a person who likes to clean. I do love a clean house, however, when my son was born I realized I'd rather spend that valuable time playing with him. Or blogging, or reading, or staring at the wall, or sticking bamboo shoots under my fingernails. Pretty much anything but cleaning. If you add together the time I spent cleaning and the time I spent arguing with hubby about which one of us was supposed to be cleaning, it was quite a lot.
And that vague sense of satisfaction you get after you've cleaned the house? In my case, it actually increases when I'm clever enough to pay someone ELSE to do it. I swore that even if I was living in a cardboard box, I'd still find the cash to pay someone to clean it twice a month.
But...the cleaners haven't been doing the best job lately. And we could really use that money.
I quizzed hubby fiercely: Is this something you're really going to do? Every Wednesday? You're not going to make excuses? Is this something I'M going to end up stuck with?
He stuck with his story. So, reluctantly, I fired the cleaners as gently and as lovingly as possible. (Via email. Is that rude? Will they be hurt that I didn't tell them in person? I obsessed over that for hours. What if I want them back and they're too mad?)
And then I went and cried in a corner.
(Still there, actually. Send wine. And laptop batteries.)