Moving Right Along 2

When we moved to East Coast Big City, I got a very posh job. If you knew what I did, you would have heard of the place where I work, and you would be impressed. I make lots of money and I hobnob with important people and my assistant gets me coffee (that’s kind of a joke: I get her coffee too, but whenever she gets me coffee, we laugh about how she’s my assistant and she’s getting me coffee).

But my job is a disaster, for a lot of reasons that I won’t go into because I don’t blog about work and I’m tired of thinking about it, and, in fact, it’s all slightly unbelievable, and I don’t want my readers to start doubting my veracity.

I am going to quit my job. This is huge. This could be professionally damaging. This is financially irresponsible. This is terrifying, given the numbers of stories I’ve heard about long-term unemployment.

On the other hand, there are serious ethical issues at stake. And professional issues. And personal issues. And I can’t stand crying all night. And I hate yelling at my kids because I had a bad day at work.

I feel very conscious of the privilege (link from Dawn who is my conscience on all things privilege-related) that enables me to do this. We can get by without me working for a little while. If a little while turns into a long while, we have family who can help us out. I don’t think a little while will turn into a long while because I have some skills that are very much in demand, and while a job using those skills is not my preference, I will certainly get one if I have to.

We are very lucky, and I know it.

Now I'm going to go try and have a good weekend.

[See? As soon as I gesture toward not blogging, there I go. Time to buy People, Star, AND US so I can do some really interesting blogging…]