I have had this job for a week and a half now.
Things are going pretty well, actually.
I no longer have the threat of piling up debts cluttering up my head. I no longer have to decided between groceries and gas. I no longer have to swallow the gravel of guilt when I notice my mother has slipped another twenty dollars into my bank account.
(It’s hard to catch a breath – they tangle somewhere in the back of my throat.)
My firm schedule will start next week. Specific hours. Forty a week. Benefits and insurance.
I went to the doctor for the first time in over two years instead of battling this infection on my own. I’d been suffering for almost a week when my insurance card arrived in the mail.
I didn’t have to suffer anymore.
There will be things I miss. I work evenings so I won’t get to see my parents when I come home. I won’t be able to have a mid-week dinner with the beau.
(I inhale for four seconds, let it linger for moment, before releasing it.)
My stomach is no longer twisted into knots.