On Tuesday of last week, I skipped sixty years of my life and started a new job. Now, I absolutely love this job so far. I get to work with people who have been friends of my family for years and years. The environment is completely relaxed, and I spend most of my day trying to quiet my laugh so as not to disturb someone who is on the phone. I do a lot of work with publications and design, and all of my favorite skills — organization, creativity, literacy, etc. — are utilized fully on a daily basis. The position is brand new, and it seems as if it was tailored to fit my personality exactly. I love my job.
I know that not many people can say that honestly, so I'm overcome with guilt by this next thought. I hate that I accepted this job.
My heart is with my friends, and they are all in school in Texas. In fact, all my boys live on the same dorm floor. It's called Club, and they are therefore known as Clubbers.
I miss these guys so much that it literally makes my heart ache and hurt. I already spent one year away from them when I went to community college for my second year of school, and it was the most hellish year I've ever endured. This year, I was supposed to be gone for only one semester (I managed to get suspended for skipping chapel for three semesters), but taking this job means that I'll be away from my boys for a whole year.
The thought of that makes me nauseous. I've cried every night since I left in May. Now, that really just says something about what a crybaby pirate I am, but it also does say a bit of how torn I am by being apart from Club.
I know that they love me and miss me, but I'm afraid that they'll forget about me if I don't go back in January. I'm afraid that things will change.
So I guess I'll have to keep counting my blessings to remind myself that I could be much worse off. To have to choose between a great job and great friends is a tough choice but not the toughest. And really, I can still visit them and whatnot. It's just hard to say goodbye to one dream and to make room for another.