With all our recent setbacks, Bear’s been after me to get a job. Who am I kidding, I’ve been after me to get a job too. When I’m staring down all the bills we’ve racked up and then I lay on the couch all day, it’s pretty hard to feel good about yourself.
But I have the benefit (benefit?) of knowing all too well what my physical limitations are. I feel the pain when my guts are boiling. It’s my legs that give out on me when I try to stand. It’s my head that hits the ground every time I pass out. Bear just sees a relatively normal looking chick who can still talk (way too much) and he listens to all my big plans, so I can’t really blame him for thinking I’m capable of more than I am. Because *I* think I’m capable of more than I am.
I work with the teenage girls at church and I LOVE it. Teenagers are awesome. Especially Mormon teenagers because they’re sassy and full of attitude *and* dorky goody-two-shoe kids. How can you not love a sassy dork? So in a few weeks all the kids in the region get together for Youth Conference, which is a yearly event where the kids go to classes on how to stay goody-two-shoes and hang out with other goody-two-shoes. This year we’re going on a great big nasty hike while pulling these wagon thingys called handcarts as we gain an appreciation of what the pioneers crossing the plains went through. I was so looking forward to two straight days of hanging with my girls and talking talking talking about their little lives as we walked through the woods, until Bear finally said to me the other day, “Um, Reese? How are you going to walk for two straight days when you can’t even walk a block down the street?”
Oh, yeah.
That’s right. I’m an invalid. I remember now.
I so desperately *want* to be capable of more, that it kills me to have to say no. I can do amazing things just by adrenaline and sheer force of will, but only for short periods of time. In fact, most people in my life don’t even know I’m that sick because I can fake it for about three hours at a time, and then I go home and collapse.
So today I finally told Bear that I’m giving up the job search. There’s nothing out here for me anyway, but I can’t take some full time administrative assistant job where I have to call in sick every other day. How am I supposed to work a full time job when I can’t even walk a block down the street?
Meanwhile, I still have scary bills staring me down, so I gots ta get creative. Bear and I have been trying every Cream of Mushroom soup recipe I can find and you know what? That stuff sucks.