After life, I have an extended vacation
Folding my body into the back seat of my ford taurus wagon, I using a high powered vacuum to suck cheerios from the recesses of the upholstery. How did I ever get here? I don't mean pushing thirty with half a bachelors degree; I know exactly how I got that. One damn quarter at a time, working a job I took because I thought that it would be emotionally fulfilling. Being a nanny is the hardest work I have ever done; it has all of the benefits of dysfunctional family life, minus the vacations and wealthy parents. That was the last time I will suck cheerios from the back seat of my station wagon.
Good that I leave now— it's been sixteen months— before I spill my mind to the unsuspecting, workaholic parents.
What, you may ask, will I do now? that remains to be seen.
My next job will be one in which my nature is respected, not be stifled; one in which joy is the key requirement.
"I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes. If there is not a new man, how can the new clothes be made to fit?" Thoreau
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