The unnamed company mentioned in this post caved to my demands, so the threatened blog campaign will not be necessary. Just as well, as I'm not sure I have the energy to fight yet another proverbial City Hall.
My children start school on Monday, so summer is all but officially over. I've resumed the job search, in earnest this time. I'm ready to work again, even if only part-time. Having spent the summer with the boys around every day, I'm just not sure what I'll do with myself when they're in school. And since my severance money is going to run out soon, I feel panicked at the idea of total dependence on my husband. It's not him, of course. He won't try to control me or question every penny I spend; it's just that I have never been without my own income and I don't think I can give it up. I can make less money than I did; that won't bother me at all. Earning no money at all, however, will bother me tremendously. So, I'm going to rejoin the workforce, just as soon as the workforce will have me.
I brought a book of Jeeves and Wooster stories with me to the beach last week. It had been years since I'd read P.G. Wodehouse, and after weeks of wallowing in Stalin and Putin, it seemed just the thing. I've been blogging for just over two years now, and those of you who have been reading this blog since then might remember that it was once titled "Aunt Dahlia". Aunt Dahlia is my favorite Wodehouse character, and among my favorite characters in all of literature. She is loud and blustery, drinks to excess, is prone to “the argot of the hunting field” (she swears like a sailor) and she never misses an opportunity to verbally abuse her nephew Bertie Wooster (“abysmal chump” is one of her, and my, favorite pet names for him) and to embroil him in insane situations. Bertie, young, idle, and wealthy, is always at Aunt Dahlia’s mercy because he knows that if he refuses to do her bidding, he’ll be denied the output of her “supreme French chef”, Anatole. I wanted to name the blog as a tribute to her, but too many people assumed that my name is Dahlia (it’s Claire) and that I was writing in the capacity of someone’s aunt. So after much consideration, I changed it. I thought of renaming it “The White Dahlia”; as a way to retain the tribute to Aunt Dahlia and as a play on “The Black Dahlia”, although I was afraid that this would be interpreted strictly on a racial level. I’m white, but the idea is not that I’M the White Dahlia, but that my life is rather the opposite of film noir. I decided to avoid this conundrum altogether by just naming it (parenthetical).
What was the point of that massive digression? Well, I'm thinking of changing the name of my blog again, but not anytime soon. More importantly, I'm also trying to stop overthinking to the point of paralysis. I've only been home for 8 months or so, but I feel like I've fallen far out of the habit of thinking on my feet and making a decision. The pace out there might be a little too fast for someone who thinks too hard and too long about which household chores to do today vs. tomorrow and which class to take next semester (and "none" is looking like the answer to that question--more on this later). I've loved being at home this summer, but I've had too much time to spend in my own head. I need to get out more.