It's 7:43 a.m. and I'm wide awake. Surprising since I tottered off to bed at 2:15 last night.
But a short while ago, I woke up, bright eyed and bushy-tailed. Not because I'm excited about putting my peach trifle together and heading to JPZapper's and DogTopper's party, although I am, but because of this wonderful dream I had.
In the dream, I had a job.
I was back working for Boss Sunshine.
I worked for him from October, 2002 through May, 2003, and it was a nightmare. As a rule, I don't discuss my job here in my weblog, other than obliquely, but I sure did then, since Boss Sunshine made my life miserable.
But last night in my dream, there I was, happy, thriving, being the way I am at work. Motivated and motivating the people I work with, engaged, creative, solving problems, enthusiastic. And having a great time of it. And in the dream, Boss Sunshine was a benevolent presence, much as he was when i worked for him Way Back When, the first time around. In the dream, the work day concluded with a meeting, and the meeting was catered, and there was food left over. So we were divvying it up to take it home so it wouldn't be wasted. I took my portion of lunchmeat between two paper plates and said, "Okay, now where did I park my car?"
I couldn't remember.
Huh. Think back.
How did I get into NYC this morning? Did I drive or take the train?
Then I figured it out as I woke up.
Oh that's right. I didn't drive to work this morning. Because I don't have a job.
For a few minutes, lying there not quite awake and not quite asleep, this didn't make sense. I was having so much fun at my dream job that I didn't want to let it go. Not have a job? That couldn't be right!
But, of course, that is right. I don't have a job.
Now, I was awake.
"I have got to get a job. Get back to work," I thought.
I recently sent in my resumé to a place down in Philadelphia--I know, I know--and I'm surprised that I didn't hear anything from them. If I were them, I would have at least interviewed me. I had an idea: I'll give a call to the woman who was my predecessor at the Previous Place of emPloyment, who now works for another non-profit, ask if she knows anybody at this place and see if she would give a call over there and put in a good word for me. Running over what I'd say to her in my head, the explanation, "Maybe I was a little bit too assertive in my cover letter, and although that would work in New York, this is Philadelphia. And philadelphians hate assertiveness."
So that's when it all came to me: I'm going to start looking for a job in NYC.
Thousands of people from this area work up in "the City." They take the train in from Princeton Junction or Trenton or catch a bus from Frenchtown and commute. The graduate programs I'm looking at are at NYU and Stevens in Hoboken, so that would be a snatch to work and go to school.
But what about your father?
You may well ask.
I've thought of that.
A few months ago, I stopped in on this local in-home eldercare place. And they were great. Since my father is an inveterate cigar smoker, no live-in eldercare facility in the country will take him. They all have "smoking outside only" policies. And at this point, my father doesn't do "outside." But he can get anything done in-home. From bathing to housekeeping to having meals prepared for him to companionship. (All the things I do now. Except for the bathing. There I draw the line.)
I came away from my meeting with the in-home eldercare folks enthusiastic, but that quickly dimmed when I wondered to myself, "Now how do I make that transition? How do I get buy-in from my father."
After all, I know just what he'd say: "I don't need that. That's why you're here."
Ah! Getting where I'm going?
But if I had a job, a demanding--and hopefully well-paying--job in New York City, I'd have an answer to that: "But Dad, I'll won't be able to be here as much as I used to be."
I could begin the transition out of here.
After about a week, my father would adjust. And there'd be no problem. A month or so down the road, if I were to find a room to rent in NYC, just so I could stay over if I had to work late, he'd be okay with that, too.
And I could get back to work. Have a great job that I loved again. That would just be so tonic.
Okay. I'm gonna check out NYC jobs on craigslist and Idealist.org now.
Wish me luck.