Ah, yes...work. Earlier in my journal I was talking about how much I DIDN'T want to go back to work. And yet I did. Why? There's so much history to this, it'll hardly fit into one of these little journal entries.
I started working full-time in the restaurant business thirty years ago, when I was eighteen. I always felt bad about what I did for a living, thought it was somehow beneath me. I SHOULD have gone to college, should have had A Career. But, when I was seventeen, graduating high school with NO idea what I wanted to be when I grew up, my family didn't have the money to send me off to college to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. And I didn't WANT anything badly enough to put myself through college.
So I got a job at a local pizza parlor, and the rest is history. It seems like menial work, but the ride was rarely easy. I was an intelligent female in a world dominated by men. Probably, I took my lumps like any working woman of my generation. I had some successes. But, all in all, I was miserable working for other people who had less vision, less intelligence, but more money than I had. And I had the added misfortune of working for several small business owners or managers who were really certifiable. I dreamed of having my own business some day.
Thanks to my father-in-law's estate, I HAVE my own business now. But it's harder than I thought it would be to transition from working woman to business owner. My concession trailer is a seasonal thing...I basically have the winter off. That's a good thing, right? Well, I was just about going crazy after the first month of being a woman of leisure. It's HARD not to work after you've worked for thirty years. It seems I need the structure of a job to make the rest of my life fall into place. So, much as I wanted NOT to, I went back to the old part-time job at the Assisted Living Community. I cook meals for old people twice a week. It keeps me sane.