The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

The Nines.

It never fails. M.'s lust rears its lovely, pinkish head when I am on edge and worn from the stress of it. I knew it when he got into bed, immediately turning on his side to face me instead of grabbing his book, grinning at all of my subsequent complaints and bitter betty exclamations. He thought I was adorable right then, just as he does anything I do or say when he's randy. I played along after a while too, smoothing my mint green pajama top with my freshly moisturized hand that smelled of strawberries (any kind of cream scented like food will almost always cast a spell), pointing out my flattening belly, and the fact that the weight loss doesn't seem to be affecting my breasts, as in, they are the same, but appear bigger because of the tinier midsection. It went on like that, with me making disposable conversation that neither of us was really interested in. It was filler. It was a bit of teasing.

When it's been a while, his body feels luxurious to me. I want to touch all of him, taste all of him, and he is always happy to oblige. If only, I thought as I travelled the grooves of his skin with my tongue, he would feel like this when the sun is out, when I'm not tired or spent from a day of thinking. What I could do if I were properly inspired! I should like to be naked in the sunlight now that I am a little smaller, a little tighter, and I would like to see his reaction to it. No, he's never complained about my body before, but when you are feeling more confident about what you look like, you tend to act the part a little more convincingly. I also would be very much in favour of him abandoning his genteel ways when we are engaged in carnal activities. It doesn't always have to be about love. I'm all for a little bit of animal kingdom when the moon is in the right place. But, it's not him. He's the guy who likes the term 'making love', and I'm the girl who tries not to wince when he uses it.

So, without much sleep but feeling slightly more inspired, I went off to a well-known book store and applied for a position. I know, I don't want retail, but if I have to sell something, I'd prefer it be books. It was nerve-wracking, being the applicant rather than the person who accepts them, and it occurred to me just yesterday that I have no idea how to be a job-seeker. Having been employed for so long, I no longer know how to go about finding a job. I went in, I asked for the manager and a serious looking girl with spotty skin and long, brown hair sweetly asked me to fill out an applicant profile. I didn't think about how weird it was, being given the pen and lead to a place to fill it out. I didn't allow myself to consider how two years ago I'd been the girl handing over the pen. I filled it out, attached my resume to it and found myself slightly giddy about checking off sections I'd be interested in working in: home, food, fiction, biography, kids, self-help. The only one I didn't check off was business and technology because neither seem particularly interesting to me, but I did add in the 'other' section that I was interested in poetry and non-fiction. I find that I am suddenly excited about the possibility of working there. Can't believe it.

Also, I had M. give his friend C. my resume last night during their weekly 'man hour'. He is well-connected, and respected as he is a fairly well-known plastic surgeon. I didn't want to go in that direction, try to get someone with connections to connect me, but my altruism isn't going to pay the bills. I didn't stop there, either. I went to the local employment counselling office and made an appointment to see a counsellor to help me discuss my future options. The government is currently paying for second career training for individuals who have been laid off in the last three years and if I can swing it, I might want to go in that direction as well. I don't think M. is as excited about that as I am, likely worried that I won't be able to manage my share of the finances if I do it, but I won't move forward with it if it means I can't pay my share. I had a year to figure things out and I didn't, but regretting it isn't going to help me much. I don't understand why I let it all go, but I don't suppose it makes a difference if I intend to make a move now, right?

On the way out of the book store, I ran into a girl I used to work with. As usual, she was almost manic as she spoke, a tiny bundle of nerve-endings in a newsboy hat. She had her youngest son with her, a ten-month-old who looked pudgy and bothered in his moss green snowsuit, and I knew one false move and he'd explode into a fit of tears. She wanted a hug, leaning in for it despite my aversion to such weird social custom, so I gave her an uncomfortable one before standing back to let her go on one of her usual tirades. In short, she's been having panic attacks and is despondent over the situation, having contacted a psychologist to help her out and apparently she immediately thought of me when it happened. I remembered that you had a little problem with that kind of thing, and I remember how you said it is something you should try to get help for instead of taking drugs for it, so I am doing it, I'm getting help. I was sympathetic and offered to have her come over here so we could talk about things. She is ridiculously high-strung, but she's a young mother and was a good ally when we were working together. Though we have little else in common, I truly want to help over to the other side of this problem, even if I haven't been able to do it yet. I suspect most people are stronger than I am in that regard, but at least I understand it on an intellectual level.

I thought a lot yesterday about what I want to do with my life. I am thirty-seven. I need to think about it if I ever want to feel a sense of worth in my lifetime. M. says I live my life as though it's going to go on forever, and he's right, I do. I put off things until I feel 'ready' for them, and I am beginning to see that it doesn't seem to be going in my favour. As an anxious person, it's likely I'm never going to feel 'right' about much, unless I actually do something. I looked at the ads in the local job board yesterday and saw that what is mostly accessible to me are management positions for big, boxy corporate stores and that I'd never get ahead if I don't move away from them. While some people genuinely love that kind of environment, I know that it's not right for me. This doesn't mean I wouldn't work for one again, it just means that I am aware that it feels to limiting to me, personally. I'm not in it for the money alone. I need to work at something I feel a connection to, something that makes me feel like I'm moving on the path designed for me, and all the corporate garbage about being a 'team player', or 'employee recognition' doesn't mean a lot to me anymore. I did that. It got me nowhere and I never felt that the people who devised the mission statements or the standards meant a word of them. It was always about the payroll per cent. It was always about the profit margin.

I know the things I love, and I'm grateful to have them. Now, if only I could find a way to build a career around them. It's time to think seriously.

Might as well consult the tarot cards.

You can laugh if you want to, but they're highly entertaining, and sometimes they're even accurate.