That title is way more exciting than this actual post, so I’ll totally forgive you if you stop reading now.
As you may recall, Friday was not so great for me. That night, I pulled up mediabistro.com and journalismjobs.com and proceeded to become very depressed by my options. Finding a job that I a) wanted and was qualified for and b) was in Cleveland proved to be next to impossible. I immediately began to panic and started thinking worst-case scenarios (i.e. living on the street eating a can of corn I’ve pried open with my fingernails that are now 6 inches long because I no longer have the will to cut them). Instead of continuing my downward spiral into the realm of highly unlikely but highly terrifying possibilities, I decided to take my dad’s advice. Earlier that day when I called him and told him I lost my job, he must have heard the frantic edge to my voice because he said, “Just try to relax.” To which I replied, “Have we met?”
Relaxing is not something I excel at. I think it’s one of the reasons I was so attracted to journalism. Fast-paced, multitasking, deadlines—bring it on. I thrive on it. Even when I’m not working, I tend to stay busy. If I spend a day at home doing nothing, I start to feel a bit guilty. I was the kid who never liked missing a day of school. But seeing as all the shit hit the fan on a Friday and I had a three-day weekend ahead of me anyway, trying to figure out my next move before Tuesday wasn’t going to do me much good.
So I relaxed.
I slept late, watched entirely too many episodes of The Sopranos, binged on HGTV and took a nap Saturday, Sunday and Monday. I went to Old Navy and treated myself to some new clothes. I blew off the gym and ignored my piles of laundry. I drank too much coffee and made myself a double Jameson and ginger ale last night. I ate out. A lot. I had a milkshake and curly fries for lunch Saturday. I got brunch with a friend and devoured a glorious bowl of breakfast nachos. I decided ordering five enchiladas sounded like a perfect idea for dinner tonight. I ate two scoops of heavenly ice cream from Mitchell’s that dripped down my hands.
None of these things are particulary adventurous, but the fact that I didn’t spend all weeking searching for jobs, looking into health care and giving myself even more gray hairs is pretty damn great. All that stuff will come soon enough. But for 72 hours, I decided to stop worrying. It’s the best decision I’ve made all weekend. (Although those nachos were pretty epic.)