Self-definition

Though my father was a university professor, I was taught as a little girl to never judge anyone, especially myself, by my job. All work was good work, including my mother's "job" as a homemaker. So imagine my surprise today when I felt what I urgently hoped was a transient humiliation. The other half of my aforementioned job is a desk one, but one that was creative, fun, and best of all had flamboyantly flexible hours. That ended July 31st.

The reason I am still there is a an agreed upon transition in job duties, which will keep me there until early December only. Beggars-choosers thing. Several months back, I had declined an opportunity to move up from assistant when my boss left---a good decision at the time, since there was no indication my job would cease to be funded. Now my duties are rote, my hours locked in (as well as my butt) and I must complete the training of the young girl who did take my former boss' job. At first I was grateful to still have a job, period, but as the day wore on, and I was sticking labels on files, answering the phone, getting a true feel for what I would no longer be doing, the day wore on me as well.

Okay, I'll get over/past it, and I need to worry more about finding something else by December to compliment the weekend job, not wallowing in what could have been. It was just a tough few hours, and for just a few seconds I was a hot-faced little 2nd-grader, embarrassed in front of the class by a small-minded teacher who could not resist pointing out my booklet-stapling error. I had edged toward the door, all prepared to run out and up to the protection of the principal's office. (sounds odd, but him I knew and liked) She moved to the door, and I didn't have the guts to push past her.

Well, I'm not 7 now, but 57 and I need to get a grip. Just low on "chipper," and for some reason I have begun to understand why some must make a beeline for the local bar at quitting time.