Nuptials

I was doing well before I was hospitalized, but I seem to have lost my drive since my discharge from Big City Hospital. I’ve only spent a handful of hours looking for a job. I have come to the point that I don’t know what I want to do anymore. I know what I don’t want to do. I do not want to
be “management”. I do not want people answering to me. I just want to be told what to do, and then do it. I’ve had it up to the proverbial “here” with second guessing what the hell people want from me.

I have gotten word from a former employee still in touch with some of my former employer’s management that “I had this coming”. I can’t decide whether to be ashamed or proud of that.

It would seem that, in order to ensure my benefits after my severance package runs out, the Prof and I will probably marry. The single word that comes to mind is “ambivalent”. [Anybody ever watch the movie “Girl, Interrupted”? The scene involving the word “ambivalent” is now irrevocably linked to my every use of the word.] I love the Prof. There is no question of that. But I’ve been married, and I I know that fairy tales can have ugly endings. I have never wanted to risk that again.

This would be the Prof’s first marriage. He isn’t what anyone would remotely consider a “romantic”, but that’s one of the reasons I’m drawn to him. He has a wonderfully pragmatic grasp on life’s realities, and it seems ultimately logical to him that we’d get married to so I’d have medical benefits.

I like to think of myself as equally pragmatic. I therefore surprise myself by discovering that there is apparently a wide streak of romantic lurking in me. I don’t want to be the blushing female who expects that bended knee proposal, but apparently I subconciously want to be the one who fits the glass slipper. I acknowledge how pathetic that is, especially at my age with my life experience. I disappoint myself.

Regardless. I’ve been doing a bit of research into what is necessary to get married. It seems straightforward enough – shell out the money and they’ll give you the application. The Prof is out of state visiting family, but when he returns Monday we’ll discuss the final details. The only big decision that realistically remains is what I’m going to do about my name. All my professional accreditations are in my former married name.

In other non-news, LGS is planted firmly on my lap, hoping that something will fall out of my dinner bowl. I made myself a “garbage dinner” tonight, making a stir fry out of anything that had been hanging around the house too long. A chicken breast, a tomato, an onion, a small yellow summer squash, a generous splash of Worcestershire sauce, and a handful of elbow macaroni turned into a meal tonight, a meal that LGS is apparently far more enthused about than I am. I have once again cheated with a couple of glasses of pinot grigio, that makes the meal seem far more sumptuous than it is, although not nearly as sumptuous as LGS feels it is.

Damned cat has gained another two ounces. She must have figured out how to shell the pecans on the end table.