It’s been one month since we pulled up to the curb at my mom’s house in West Virginia with all of our possessions packed in a truck and trailer. My husband found a job one week after arriving and after two and a half weeks on the job he was promoted to shop foreman. My job search hasn’t been as fruitful and I’m trying to cope with that.
I’ve worked pretty much non-stop since I was 18. I’ve always had a job and have occasionally worked two at once. So to have been out of work for the past five weeks seems strange to me. But let me clarify something… My husband has said that I don’t HAVE to work. I can if I want to, but we are so far getting by with just his income. I know that this is due, in part, to the fact that we live with my mother right now and don’t have a lot of extra expenses. So my husband has told me that I can take my time and find that “right job” when it comes along. “No rush,” he says.
This is such a foreign concept to me, being provided for, being taken care of. I’m sure I should be relishing in all the free time I have. I could take up knitting! I could learn quilting from my mom! I could memorize the player stats for the WVU Mountaineers! I could start a neighborhood watch program and figure out which neighbor’s dog is pooping on our front lawn… So far I’ve spent most of my time taking trips around town with my mom, watching TV, and reorganizing my underwear drawer.
Maybe I should start blogging again…