I’m doing my best to keep my head above water during a pretty trying time. I’ve kept my job and paid my bills and haven’t died yet, so I guess that’s a success. April has seen members of my family moving in and out of psychiatric hospitals and correctional facilities, which is nothing but stress on top of an already difficult year.
So here I am, dragging out the end of a Masters degree, trying to do the dishes every once in a while, and working two days a week. Not, as it happens, as a therapist (though now that you mention it, a local job posting for a BA-level counsellor does close next Friday). I took the first job that got me out of the big city, which ended up being at a respite foster home. My shift is a straight 48 hours from 9am Tuesday to 9am Thursday, providing one-on-one live-in support to a kid whose parents need a break. It’s a bit tiring. I make sandwiches and enforce rules about swearing, go swimming and sanitize the kitchen, and wonder how the hell stay-at-home parents pull this shit off.