The
words inside me are quiet today. As they are on Sundays. Less
activity, less going on. Just less.
I
lay in bed staring out the window. The rolling hills of Melville look
back at me. The quiet almost tangible. I promised myself this morning
I'd do everything on my to do list and I'll go to church tonight.
I
lie in bed watching time to by: the sun shift and the moon make its
way into the night sky after the sun set. I didn't go to church.
I
don't know what to say anymore. I honestly don't have a good answer
to the question “Hows the jobhunt going?”
Because
it's going: going on, yes. Going well, I don't know – I don't have
a job yet, if that answers the question?
I
appreciate the concern and the inevitable pep-talk. I appreciate the
outreach. I just don't have an answer.
Im
tired of keeping the happy front: the one where I smile and agree
with the inevitable pep-talk. The one where I hug and say thank you.
The one where I say the right thing will come along.
Because,
really? Will it? I trust and I pray and I manage the job hunt like I
manage TV productions: with a to-do list, a schedule and aims.
But
sometimes, just sometimes I'd like to tell people that I crumble and
cry because I wonder whats going to happen when the Grace money (as a
friend of mine called it) is finished. I wonder how long this process
will take. I wonder where it will lead and if I'll need to leave my
beautiful, blue-sky Jozi to work elsewhere.
I
can't tell people. So I nod, smile and say thank you. And attack this
job hunt like I do TV productions.
A
friend of mine checks in on me every day: she sends love, motivation,
little bits of laughter from her life and prays.
So
in the meantime: I pray, she prays and my mother tells me weekly that
she is praying for me.
But
an answer, no, I still don't have one.
