Saturday, May 8, 2010

I resigned

I  took information, I have calculated, I looked at the calendar, I have read, I left a message to my father ... The job is killing me, another morning of nausea, I have no desire to go there; I never have the desire to go there, leaving my daughter in the care of someone else, to go do what I do, while I could do better. The separation with my daughter is too hard every day. It's spring, it is more beautiful than ever outside and I must leave her to the care for someone else, while I would rather stay with her or at least earn our bread with something that would give me air instead of choking me. I need to create.

My father called me back, returning from the bike tour of New York. I told him that I made my mind, that I would quit my job. I explain what I wrote in prior posts. He knew my mother, of course, she who wanted to become a lab technician, to whom the father replied: "You're a woman, if you want to work, you will be a dressmaker or a secretary, otherwise the role of a woman is to stay home and wipe the children". My mother had no gift for sewing, she was better as a secretary. But she hated it. Then she was coming back home, exhausted from work, exhausted to believe she had to live the life that was not hers, for money, for the house, for her child, for her father... For everyone except her? But then comes overstrain, nervous breakdown, the bottle of wine, martinis, the broken home. My mother had no gift for motherhood. But she did what she could with the cards she had. And when she lowered her arms, cancer took her away.

Was I nervous about what my father would think? Yes. Is my father the type of person to tell me to sacrifice all that I am for others. No. Among other things, because he knows I'm too rebellious to hear that. I don't listen, I never wanted to listen. I should, however, sometimes. So long ago, my father tried to tell me that my choice of schooling would open through a career, and that career should lead to an income. If money does not buy happiness, it brings the bread on the table, he brings a home, which is important in a country where it's -20°C in winter and +30°C in summer. I didn't understood at the time, I couldn't hear. I was a princess, unhappy on the side of my mother, but spoiled, because free on the side of financial security.

I have been stubborn and I chose the wrong cards. Bad bet. Bad deck. Bad game. Survival game. Between cancer and depression, he had to keep my heads off the waters, breathe, avoid choking. Was my hand that bad? No, because I had many things to resolve before moving on to serious things. Get over with the depression, make peace with my mother, finding a good man worthy of trust. This is no small matter when a heart is already as teared.

I've tabled the cards. I won. I lost. Game over. Change the game. Change the cards, better cards. New cards.

My father told me that after completing his expensive schooling (like mine), he could only find a job as a parts clerk. After a while, he realized he was well paid, but that was not what he wanted, it was not the direction in which he had studied. He had left everything behind to take a job in his field, at the other end of town, poorer salary... But he has climb the latter so highly today, he is renowned in his field, which is something that would never be possible if he had stayed at the better-paid parts clerk job. And he concludes by saying: "I have never regretted quitting that job, even if at first it seemed unreasonable."

To have or not the approval of my father would not have changed my decision, only my emotion; I would have felt in conflict with him. I would have felt misunderstood. But I would have done it anyway. I've always been stubborn.

I resigned Tuesday - I would have done it Monday if they had time for me. My last working day will be July 2nd. A little less than two months.

It doesn't change that I'm still scared. Afraid to leave the stability, financial security, fear of not being able to find my Fine Arts Muse, fear of failure... Ah, the failure, one of my greatest fear. You're still there, before me again. Yes, you're there. I see you, I feel you. And yes, I'm still afraid of you. But no, this time you won't stop me. Since my depression, at the bottom of my well, I saw you, you've never stopped intimidating me. Not anymore. Depression is over, the failure is behind me. The game fell down; I need new cards. I don't know if I found my Muse, but at least I know I found here, now, another piece of myself that I accidentally dropped during my depression.

It has been a long time since I took a bold decision, to drop everything and choose risk.
It has been a long time since, in front of an impasse, I decided to make a U-turn, to soak myself into cold water.
But I did it often before. I reconize myself doing this.

I'm not sure if this text makes any sense for you. My writing is always... different... past a certain hour (plus, this one was even harder to translate for me!). For me, it makes all its sense, too much sense. It might be better, in fact, to have said it in mid-word... Maybe one day, when en in-between the lines will be known, it will become understandable.

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