If I were a nurse, a social worker, a truck driver or a computer guru, I'd be golden. Unfortunately, I'm none of the above. I majored in English in college. At the time, that seemed like a really super idea. I liked to read. I liked to write. I was sort of good at it. I went to an artsy-fartsy crunchy earthy college, so it was even a well-respected choice. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with the degree when I got out; in fact I'm pretty sure I didn't think about it at all. No plans, no goals. I guess I figured that out in the real world, someone, somewhere, would need a manic journal-writing, Shakespeare geek to do something. For a lot of money.
Yeah, not so much. Like every other English major I have ever met, I ended up creating lesson plans and grading essays, while babysitting 32 or 40 OPC every hour, on the hour. I wanted to love teaching, I really did. And there were moments that I loved, days that I loved, but all in all, I was mostly just miserable. I don't mind the teaching part at all. Or the paperwork or the meetings or any of the other common beefs that teachers share about the highly underpaid profession. Mostly, I hated the kids.
Oh, did I just say that out loud? It's horrible of me to feel that way, I know. I would walk into my classroom every morning, prepared for a mind-blowing lesson in literature, and spend the five minutes before the bell praying that some epidemic had [sadly] swept through our town during the night and laid rest [peacefully] to anyone between the ages of 14 and 16. That probably sounds sick. I can't help it. I think teenagers are evil.
At least I knew that meant I shouldn't be spending the day with your kids. You're welcome.
I could've gone back to any one of the careers I started and stopped in the years before I entered the classroom. There were many, believe me. And if answering phones in a call center or delivering pizzas or making the perfect cup of espresso offered any kind of paycheck comparable to the [highly underpaid] teaching profession, I would have considered a return to my past. Instead, I decided to be a stay home mom, for like the fourth time since I first became a mother. I know I'm not that good at it, but it seemed the only reasonable thing to do. Matt needed me. Everyone needed me home, taking care of my little family. Didn't they...? Thank God I married well. I've been fortunate enough to not have to work at all for the past year. But now I'm bored (and poor), and guess what? I'm really not qualified for jack. This blogging thing isn't exactly raking in the bucks and I'm about a whole college degree away from my web-design dream, so in the meantime, I'll join the masses and try to get a "real job".
*** long, exasperated sigh ***
I'll try not to be all Debbie Downer about it.