I don�t know what the deal is. I go to work, and I�m a happy, competent, healthy person. I�m at home, and I�m a tired, pathetic, depressed glutton. Every other weekday I am perfectly functional. The other days I need a hired hand to cattle prod my ass to do anything that doesn�t involve walking to the refrigerator. What the hell?

There must be some bad chi floating around the house. I can feel it. Almost as soon as I walk in the door, I�m ready to curl up into a ball and read my life away. Or sleep. I sleep a lot too. I read a book about Feng Shui one time, and I think it�s still packed up in a box somewhere in my inauspicious home. I already know the mirror at the foot of our bed is a very bad thing as are all the ceiling fans. Not only do I have some bad chi, but Trading Spaces designers would hate it. I think we might be flushing all our chi down the toilet too, though I�m not exactly sure. I haven�t done any deep analysis of our floor plan. And it really doesn�t matter how things are arranged if the people in the house grate on each other.

There is always the killer mold explanation of why I can�t function at home. I probably have killer mold spores floating around, eating my brain bit by bit. [insert joke here about killer mold spores being disgusted by my brain or not having enough to feed them] I�m not the only one who doesn�t seem to be able to get a damn thing done around here, though everyone else�s sloth started the moment we set foot in the house, while I was a busy bee when we first moved in. So if there�s killer mold, it would be likely that they would get worse, though if they can�t get any worse, the killer mold effects wouldn�t be apparent. I do think killer mold is much more likely to be in the house, since the mold patches have only gotten worse in the bathroom, but I really don�t want to talk about the stupid bathroom. According to last year�s New Year�s Resolutions, there is supposed to be a ventilation fan in there by now. [cough]

So there�s the bad chi and the killer mold. But if it isn�t those, which we all know it probably isn�t, the only explanation is that my home life is depressing. Now there�s a revelation! I know, I know� that�s the obvious answer, but it was never so to me until I started working. I knew I was depressed about my life. I knew that depression was manifesting itself in the form of total stagnation. What I didn�t know is that that stagnation would continue at home, even though I�d shaken it elsewhere.

Except for the initial horror of having to get up at 6 AM every morning (I would be so happy if I had a job that started at noon), workdays are really good for me. I get up and shower. I wear something better than jeans or sweatpants. I smell good. I look good. I go to work and enjoy doing my job. I like working. I get bored and antsy if I don�t have anything to do. I don�t think about food all day long, drink lots of water, and eat healthfully. Salads, vegetables, and fruits actually sound delicious to me when I�m at work, and that�s what I usually end up eating, despite the vending machines and the cafeteria with junkalicious goodies. I even think about how great it would be to start running again.

Then I get home again.

I�m usually pretty tired by the end of a workday, so understandably, I�m not very productive when I get home. I still make all kinds of plans for all the things I�ll do the next day, but then that day comes, and I�m sitting on my ass in a funk half the day. Lately, I get going and get some things done only too completely poop out and have to take a nap. If I weren�t a blood truck (I could explain this reference, but that would be admitting I watched the shitbomb of a movie Thirteen Ghosts. Oh wait. Crap.) the past week, I would think I was pregnant. That�s how tired I was. But it only seems to happen at home. And even though I do get the laundry done and the carpet vacuumed, I don�t want to do any of it. I have no desire to do anything except read six books in A Series of Unfortunate Events in four days and eat One Sweet Whirled ice cream. (I highly recommend both, by the way, not that you�re all losers like me.) I�m still only treading water in my home life.

I suppose it would be silly to expect miracles from a twenty-four hour a week job. It was a big step for me, and it has done me much good. It hasn�t been a cure-all though, even if John seems to think it�s the greatest thing to happen our whole, entire marriage. He�s just happy to have me out of his hair for the few hours he�s home before I am and after I get home when I�m too tired to care what he does. I did think that the boost in self-esteem I got from working would trickle down a little more than it has though. I really thought I�d be more motivated around the house and in my personal life. The problems I had before I worked haven�t gone away and actually got a little worse. Some of the things I worked so hard to avoid have unearthed themselves, like the shifting sands in Egypt exposing the corner of ancient ruins. My job simply changed the direction the wind was blowing.

It�s clear I have more changes to make. I knew that, even if I didn�t acknowledge it. There is no autopilot now that I have a job just as there wasn�t one before. Getting a job wasn�t like knocking over the first domino, as much as I might have wanted it to be. I certainly didn�t think I would have even more questions about myself than I did before I started, but then I haven�t done a very good job of engaging my entire brain for quite a few years. I was too busy blaming mold and bad chi.

---------------------------------------------