Planning one's day when unemployed can be tricky.
How many hours a day should be set aside to cull through the offerings on Career Builders, QuintCareers, and Indeed.com (not to mention browse the numerous HR sites of every corporation that comes to mind)? How many resumes are honestly sent out? How many cover letters tweaked to fit the receiver? How many old colleagues and working friends can be contacted for leads and freelance work? After that, how much time can be devoted--guilt free--to personal projects and activities, like writing, reading, house stuff, and yoga?
These are the current questions in my life.
However much I'd really like to sit back and enjoy this gift of time off I've given myself, but I'm finding it difficult to do so. I keep mulling over my recent decision to walk away from my job and the effects it has had on my household. A good Episcopalian, I try counting my many obvious blessings (a lovely husband, great family and friends, a beautiful dog, a cool house at the beach, reasonably good health, and enough to eat). Then, the positives of leaving a job that was, essentially, killing me, which include sleeping through the night (and, yes, sleeping in past 5 am); not ever again having to control my nausea when listening to the grating, tobacco-raspy voice of my tyrannical publisher; seeing my blood pressure drop from 200/100 to 110/60, not to mention getting more much-needed exercise, regularly preparing dinner for my husband, and providing constant companionship for the dog. Also, I have the freedom to work on all my writing projects that have been shelved over the last decade due to lack of time and end-of-the-day energy.
However, I cannot seem to suppress the negative Blue Meanies, which include no money coming in (I never really realized how much I made--and how freely I spent it); wondering whether I'm a crazy-assed loser for walking away from a well-paying job in the worst economy since the Great Depression; and feeling older, somewhat physically challenged by fibromyalgia and back problems, and simply too tired to deal with the pettiness and idiocy of corporate terrorists.
Whittier Girl needs to make a plan.
How many hours a day should be set aside to cull through the offerings on Career Builders, QuintCareers, and Indeed.com (not to mention browse the numerous HR sites of every corporation that comes to mind)? How many resumes are honestly sent out? How many cover letters tweaked to fit the receiver? How many old colleagues and working friends can be contacted for leads and freelance work? After that, how much time can be devoted--guilt free--to personal projects and activities, like writing, reading, house stuff, and yoga?
These are the current questions in my life.
However much I'd really like to sit back and enjoy this gift of time off I've given myself, but I'm finding it difficult to do so. I keep mulling over my recent decision to walk away from my job and the effects it has had on my household. A good Episcopalian, I try counting my many obvious blessings (a lovely husband, great family and friends, a beautiful dog, a cool house at the beach, reasonably good health, and enough to eat). Then, the positives of leaving a job that was, essentially, killing me, which include sleeping through the night (and, yes, sleeping in past 5 am); not ever again having to control my nausea when listening to the grating, tobacco-raspy voice of my tyrannical publisher; seeing my blood pressure drop from 200/100 to 110/60, not to mention getting more much-needed exercise, regularly preparing dinner for my husband, and providing constant companionship for the dog. Also, I have the freedom to work on all my writing projects that have been shelved over the last decade due to lack of time and end-of-the-day energy.
However, I cannot seem to suppress the negative Blue Meanies, which include no money coming in (I never really realized how much I made--and how freely I spent it); wondering whether I'm a crazy-assed loser for walking away from a well-paying job in the worst economy since the Great Depression; and feeling older, somewhat physically challenged by fibromyalgia and back problems, and simply too tired to deal with the pettiness and idiocy of corporate terrorists.
Whittier Girl needs to make a plan.
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