The Go-Go's Had it Right

Thanks, Belinda Carlisle, for so aptly putting my feelings into song: Vacation, all I ever wanted, Vacation, had to get away.

As I sit here at my 1940's painted desk that I rescued from the side of the road last year in bad shape and refinished, I think of what a lovely week off I've had. Josh and I refinished our hallway, had a housewarming party, bummed around, rifled through junk stores and just generally enjoyed each other's company. I've had a chance to feel human again - no stress, no worries, no obligations. Just me, my boyfriend, two cats, two turtles, guppies, a happy house, and the world to explore. And now, with champagne and local strawberries in hand (thanks to all of you who brought champagne to the party, by the way!), I intend to spend the last day of my break in high fashion: sewing skirts, drinking, and watching B sci-fi movies.

It is an interesting conundrum that has hit me square in the face this week. I love my job. I love writing for a living and working to help kids from crappy homes have better lives. It's satisfying and fulfilling. But I'm exhausted. I'm under so much stress that I've had heart burn for the last month and a half for the first time in my life and can't sleep thanks to all the nasty nightmares I have. I'm too tired when I get home to do anything fun and I'm constantly anxiety ridden. This job has hijacked my identity. I'm no longer the collection of quirky and colorful things that make me who I've been in the past, I'm now the sum total of my career. In short, I'm reaching my breaking point.

So what to do? I don't know really. Quitting seems like a dream come true, but I'd really like to pay off my mortgage in the next 7 years so Josh and I can take the long road view of our future. With no mortgage, neither one of us will be beholden to jobs that make us crazy. But to get there I have to make as much money as possible, so I can't quit. Plus there's the responsibility to my agency not to leave them in a lurch in a bad economy, threatening their ability to complete grant cycles and get continuation funding. Guilt is a powerful motivator.

I'm stuck. In the grand scheme this is not a big problem. Lots of people would LOVE to have this problem right now. I know how extremely fortunate I am to have the life I lead with great family, friends, and the love of my life. I'd just like to have my sanity and identity back. I don't want to be "the grantwriter" any more. At least not with 60+ hour work weeks, the constant after hours phone calls and emails, and the small paycheck. I'd really like to go back to being me. So if anyone would like to hire a freelance writer, furniture refinisher, tailor, floral designer, fine crafts person, potter, screen printer, carpenter, tile layer, beer brewer, coffee roaster, insert-title-here, drop me a line.