The Other Shoe
I have a good reason for neglecting this space for the last two weeks:
I got a job. A real, honest-to-goodness, employment situation with a boss and meetings — and a paycheck, too. And I have been putting all of my energy into showing them that taking a chance on me was not a mistake.
So far, I think they are happy with the work I am doing for them, and it feels good. It feels really good. It feels so good that I’ve been a little bit afraid to talk about it, lest I tempt fate and force the other shoe to drop.
You see, for the last several years, whenever I’ve had a lick of good fortune, something dire hits me on the head with a great big thump. And I so don’t want to have that happen now. I need this job. I needed it three years ago. And I am terrified of screwing it up.
Right now, I am looking at something that might be that other shoe: Do you remember that doctor’s appointment I had over the summer, where they discovered I had developed a new uterine fibroid (after the onset of menopause, when that is not supposed to happen)?
I was advised to come back in two months so they could check the progress. The two months have now passed, and I wrote the bulk of this post while sitting in my doctor’s waiting room with a full bladder, waiting to be called in for another ultrasound. And while it was easy to put it out of my mind for eight weeks, once I was there — I was scared.
Because it would be just my luck to finally see the light at the end of the financial tunnel only to learn that I had problems with my health.
Unfortunately for me, my OB/GYN was called to the hospital on Wednesday when I had my appointment, so she was not there to interpret the results of the scan. It’s now Saturday morning, and I still have not heard from her. I am thinking that’s a good sign — but I will call her on Monday, just to make sure.
I hope that shoe stays right where it is.
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