dianarchy.net

My Feet Hurt

Why do my feet hurt, you ask? Well, probably because I wore three inch heels for most of the day (or at least a significantly larger portion of the day than I am used to). And why would I do a silly thing like that? Considering that I did not factor the sixty pounds I have gained since the last time I wore them into the equation of pounds per square inch that the balls and toes of my feet would be bearing, I didn’t think it would be a bad idea.

Oh, were you asking about the occasion for which I wore the shoes? Well, now that’s an entirely different story altogether.

You see, I had a job interview today. No, my current employment is not in peril. I had an interview at a larger (read “better” in my mind) hospital, in a larger city (read “much better” in my mind). I am not a small town girl. I am a city girl. I just didn’t know it until I moved to Saint Louis. This is not Saint Louis, but it’s closer.

I don’t have any idea how it went, so I’m not even going to go into the details except to say a few things. First of all, I did pretty good with the person who would be my direct supervisor. I did pretty poorly with that person’s supervisor. At one point, I got so nervous and rambling that I ran out of breath and when I went to catch it again, I realized I had forgotten the question I was struggling so hard to answer in the first place. This is commonplace in my interviews. Then I interviewed with HR, and I have no idea if I did well or not, because while I gave textbook right answers to most of the questions, and while she was bubbly and friendly to talk to, I have no idea what was going on in her head, and I’m pretty sure the words “video games” came out of my mouth at some point and I don’t really want to talk about it.

Second of all, I got a chance to meet with my potential coworkers, and they all seemed very very friendly and in need of help. They all looked like they’d been pushed to the breaking point, a look I know all too well, considering my own experience with understaffedness. Yes, I just made that word up.

Third of all, this hospital is not known for its retention rate, and that is raising so many red flags for me. But I think I saw today that they are trying earnestly to fix that. I can appreciate the work that goes into making changes like that.

Okay, that’s all I want to say about the interview itself. The whole thing is giving me stomach cramps like you wouldn’t believe. But I’m not done with this entry yet, no boy, not by a longshot.

The reason I went to this interview at all, the reason I even looked to see if they were hiring, is that Marcus has been accepted to a school in that area of the state. He’s also been accepted to a school in a neighboring town to where we live now. I thought, well, if I just apply and don’t get an interview or hired, that makes the decision that much easier, right? So I’ll just do the interview and generally not worry about it until the time comes.

How do I segue into this next part? Like this, of course.

There is not a single person in my life besides Marcus who thinks that our relationship is good or healthy. Now, I love Marcus, and his opinions on the matter count for at least 5-7 normal-people votes. But I also love my parents and the people in my family who may or may not be related by blood. There are some in this group whose opinions I respect and value higher than my own, and I have for probably longer than I’ve been alive. I can’t just ignore that.

What I’m doing, essentially, is enabling Marcus. I know that if push came to shove and I broke up with him and kicked him out of the apartment, I know he wouldn’t be homeless or starving. He’d find a way to make things work. He’d get himself a place to live and a job. And in a way, that almost hurts more. It’s like, well, what’s stopping him?

We talked about all this last night, which turned out to be not a good idea. I mean, I couldn’t much help it. My brain was going in a million different directions. We went to bed and I was half asleep when I realized that my mouth was making words, “Sometimes I think it would just be better if we took a break from each other … so we could both get our individual lives back in order before we try to make a life together.” This lead to a discussion until midnight-ish, where at the end he told me to get some sleep (we had to leave at 7 this morning). He, on the other hand, stayed up until 4, detailing my car, changing the fish water, doing dishes. And on the way home from the interview, he promised change. He told me what he was thinking about while he was doing all those things.

I want to believe him. I really do. If he’s really going to make right, then we can stay together. But I’m also afraid to believe him, and I’m not sure if I’m going to let myself.

Part of me thinks that if I take this job and we move to the bigger city, a lot of things will be easier. We can have a fresh start in a new, clean apartment with management that actually fixes problems. We can get rid of one of the cats (something he won’t let me do here). We can live close to either his school or my work and one of us can walk or bus it, allowing us to be a one-car household. But part of me knows that moving is not going to fix anything, it’s just going to make an outward change, which sometimes helps inward changes. If we don’t move, I’m guaranteed to stay just as happy with my job. We won’t have to worry about the stresses and extra expenses of moving. He could still ride the bus to school (for free, I might add).

My head is all a-jumble, and I don’t know what to say next.