How to describe my life right now: stressed, in a constant state of anticipation, vacillating between ‘Everything’s going to be okay’ and ‘Holy sh*t, what are we going to do?’
The hub’s work contract is up in two weeks and despite everyone’s assurance that something will get worked out, nothing seems to be even remotely decided except for the roundabout expiration date of his current contract. It glows on the calendar, mocking me.
It’s tense around here. I try to keep the support alive, but then I have to pay a bill or something on a car breaks and I am reminded of how much money we don’t have and how much worse that’s going get if this doesn’t pan out.
Not that we won’t get on our feet either way, but I’ve done the unemployment game before. That game sucks.
So when my parents offered to pay for us to go camping with them this weekend, we jumped on board. We may have stayed at a federal campground with no electricity, showers, or any signs of modern society—the outhouses were rsurprisingly clean—but it was the most relaxing weekend I’ve had in a very long time.
The hubs and I decided that money, jobs, and future financial crises talks would be pinned on the board of things we’d worry about after we returned to the land of internet, electricity powered lights, and heated water.
I’m back now, but I’d rather not be.
On Monday the official 2 week mark drove in carrying truckloads of stress behind it. I spent two hours that night combing job boards, another hour trying to go through bills to see where we can trim more fat, and a couple more hours coming up with the statistics on how long we could live off our available credit.
Give me mosquito bite covered legs and dirt seasoned food over this uncertainty any day.
Temporary work shouldn’t be a thing …