Sundays

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.