It’s a Sunday afternoon.
The temperatures are unusually high, even for Alabama; our forecasts have topped out in the high nineties, leaving us sweltering in heat ten to fifteen degrees higher than our usual September warmth.
In the cool of our A/C, every occupant of the house is napping, four-legged children included.
I can’t sleep. I’m thinking about Monday.
Monday, I start back at the grind I was so eager to leave. I start back with 40 hours, same circumstances that I survived when I was 24. Once more, one more time, this time with feeling.
And though I’m grateful.. money = eternally grateful .. I am approaching all of this with dread. I was so miserable the last time, so encompassed with work that I was not compensated for, and I know it made me less than whole everywhere else. I am terrified of peering into that looking glass again.
It couldn’t have ALL been that bad, Sarah. I tell myself this over and over. There were happy times.
Yes, there were. But I never felt useful, I never felt needed, and I never felt fulfilled.
I’ve had a taste of that now.
So we’ll see. We’ll see if I can be shaped. We’ll see if I can start demanding what I’m owed, while giving everything I have. We’ll see if I can think more like a man this time. We’ll see who I let myself become this round.
But I made this decision for lazy Sundays, I remember. For routines, for consistency, and for the chance of lazy Sundays.