Jillangill is Sad
Thursday, May 21st, 2009So it’s 2:30 and I can’t sleep. Again. I’ve been thinking about life, and in particular how things got to be so bad so fast. The beginning of this year seemed so full of promise; we thought for sure Jeremy would get the church job in Edmonds, WA. I was thrilled at the prospect of a change of scenery and the chance to be closer to some really good friends of ours. Jeremy and I even talked about having a baby since things seemed like they were finally stabilizing. We visited Edmonds and loved it so much, then 2 days later I was holding a dying kitten in my hands while Jeremy was told he didn’t get the job.
The next month I was ecstatic to start writing grants for the humane society we’d been volunteering at, and it seemed like I finally found something enjoyable and worthwhile. And then I was let go after doing a month and a half of free work. I don’t think they ever really intended to hire me, just kept putting it off due to money concerns and then trumped up some excuse about not wanting to have a married couple on the payroll because we’d had the nerve to ask for the day off on my birthday.
As if that wasn’t enough of a disappointment, in an attempt at honesty I’d reported my “full-time unpaid training” at the humane society to unemployment, and was promptly denied any further benefits. Imagine my delight.
Now it’s May and we’ve realized we can’t really continue living up here because we can’t find jobs and make ends meet with our house payments. Things are bad. I can’t help but be reminded that Dickens, the dying kitten from January, serves as kind-of a microcosm of how this year has felt for me so far. Dickens was born a little runty, but had lots of personality and seemed just fine. How could anyone know her little organs were underdeveloped? For 6 weeks I worked to keep that kitten growing…bottle-feeding her and loving her and keeping a watchful eye. Then one day she was no longer running and jumping, but shuddering in my palm and breathing so slowly. I watched as she struggled to hold onto a life ebbing away, and when the convulsions racked her tiny body I prayed that it’d just be over soon so she wouldn’t suffer anymore. And then she was gone and I felt like such a failure.
I feel like I’ve worked so hard, made so many sacrifices, to make progress toward my goals in life. Jeremy and I pursued things that seemed promising, remaining faithful to the things we know to be important. Then one day I turned around and found that things were ending when they should’ve been beginning. Failure to thrive, despite my hard work. My hopes have been resurrected only to be crushed, as things have become so comically dire I wonder if the situation is even really happening. I’m fighting and fighting, but is there any way the end results won’t feel like utter failure?
