I'm so very close to that proverbial blown gasket these days. It almost seems as though each step is a test of my abilities to refrain from running around and indescriminately asking people if they were born assholes or if they worked at it.
Totally unrelated to that little outburst (okay, so maybe not), I am simply stressed out.
In the last two months:
- I was laid off
- Hurricane Katrina hit us
- I saw an Army recruiter
- I took a job with the State Farm Catastrophe Team
- Found that job to be 7 days a week, 12 hours a day
Now, here I sit in the Wyndham Hotel in Houston.
You see, my daughter has developed my love of theater. We are going to see Wicked with my much, much, much younger sister tomorrow night.
Unfortunately, with only being able to wrangle one day off, I've found myself doing the marathon travel. I left work at 7pm, picked up the kids and drove the 5 hours to Houston. We will drive back tomorrow night after the show and I will be back at work by 7am Sunday morning.
*thud*
At some point in the next 2 weeks I will know if I'm actually going to be shipped off to boot camp. Being 30 and a mother, I have my concerns. I won't believe it can happen until I'm sworn in.
I've wanted to be in the Army since I can remember. At 5 I told my grandmother I was going to wear that uniform.
So I wait. What's a few more weeks added to 30 years, right?
Somehow, all the order barking and structure seems like a much needed vacation from the chaos that I've grown to know. I find myself craving the security of knowing where I'm going and what needs to be done when I get there.