I'm really quite happy right now. My former boss called me up and offered me my old job back, the one I had before I went through cancer treatment and then wound up dealing with my father's death and the resulting chaos of the crazy, termite-ridden house he left behind.
Dealing with that house has especially formed my reaction to things.
Now, I just naturally expect for things to go horribly wrong.
I stopped blogging about the house because every post could have been written according to a specific formula: I thought everything was great, and we were done with the house, and then x happened and everything went to hell. I got mad for a few days, got over it and moved on to crisis z.
I've been telling my family for the last three months,"This is the last time I have to go out to the house! I just have to wrap up a few things and then we're DONE!"
I don't think anyone believes me anymore. The last time I spoke those words, I woke up on a Sunday morning at the house to discover that there was leak behind the wall in the bathroom, the one we had just refinished, and the water had seeped through the wall and soaked the carpet....the brand-new carpet we had just had installed a month ago.
We had to yank out the brand-new vanity, fix the pipe, and have the drywall repaired.
It is seriously like a bad joke.
If were a little more paranoid I would think that I was being punk'd. It's too tragi-comical to be real.
So now it seems my fortune has changed. Wondering how I was going to find employment now that I am hopefully done(knock on wood) with health issues, estate issues, and crazy house issues, I had been filled with anxiety. Who was going to hire me? How was I going to find a job in Florida's particularly bad job market?
And then.....my boss called me up and offered me a job.
Angels sang. I was grateful. Rainbows spontaneously appeared.
Yet in the back of my head there is this voice saying,"Don't get your hopes up. The funding for this position might dry up. Your boss might decide to skip town, run off to Mexico to join the drug trade, and forget to mention to everyone else at the office that she gave you a job. A sinkhole might open up under the house, swallow it whole and force you to move into the newly-renovated crazy house on the other side of the state. An asteroid might destroy the office of the non-profit you work for erasing any scrap of its existence. You might get the swine flu and die a tragic death, in which case you won't need a job anyway."
I don't like it.
I don't like this curled up fear hiding in the recesses of my mind waiting to strike at any sign of optimism.
Yet...I'm not sure if I can really exterminate it.
Hopefully, my tactic of simply ignoring it will cause it to shrivel up into a dried husk, like the tiny lizards that find their way inside the house and die a quiet death under furniture and in the window sills. I'll be sweeping out my dusty mind and come across the lifeless, perfectly petrified skeleton of my fear and be surprised that I never even heard it pass into non-existence.