Deary Diary,

There are days when nothing can be fixed. There are days when nothing can be done. Still, it just feels better to share what’s weighing on my mind with my lover, even if he only says the same things aloud that I am thinking quietly in my head.

At least, then, I know we are still on the same page.

At least, then, I know we’re in it together.

Surrounded by a post-shower mist of shampoo and the scent of some sort of flowery lotion, she came and collapsed next to him on the couch. She was wearing her favorite black Batman underwear depicting the usual yellow utility belt and a solid tank top that rode up a little, revealing her belly button.

“Hey,” she said, reaching over to touch him. It seemed that she couldn’t ever resist sliding close enough to initiate physical contact. As her hand wandered over his thigh, he captured it with his own, squeezing tightly.

“Hey, how are you?” he asked.

“Work,” she sighed. “Work is giving me fits. Work is making it hard to sleep. Work is poaching my happiness and murdering the little birdies that sing to me like the ones in Cinderella.”

He laughed; he couldn’t help it.

“That bad, huh?” he said.

“That bad,” she said. She sighed again, deeply, but he watched her eyes, the slight crease between her eyebrows and the weary squint of deep deliberations.

“What is it?” he inquired, leaning closer. She scooted into his lap, swinging her legs over and nestling against his shoulder.

“I like my job; I like it a lot. I’m good at it, and I really admire the people I work with. Those are important things to me,” she explained,  and then she smiled. “You know, because I invest in people. I’ve never been able to stick to a job just for the paycheck. What I do has to mean something to me, or forget it.” She twisted one long strand of hair around her finger, thinking. “The problem is, I don’t trust my boss. I have this nagging concern that I’m going to end up the sacrificial scapegoat for something, I don’t know what. And I don’t like that feeling. I’ve applied for a  few other positions with other companies; it’s a further commute, and it’s a change I’m not sure I want to make. It means meeting new people and settling into new routines. It means all kinds of things have to change, and, yes, I hate transitions. It also means better money and perhaps a better benefits package, and those are good things. But there are so many unknowns, and that’s the part I don’t like.”

For a long moment it was quiet. She didn’t expect him to have an answer or to find a solution. She merely wanted to talk to him because it gave her concerns shape to discuss them, and also because it felt reassuring not to feel as if she were alone with these worries, even though they were, ultimately, her own decisions to make.

He stroked her hair. “It’s always a good thing to consider your options. It seems like, from what you’ve told me, there are bureaucratic issues that aren’t likely to be solved any time soon. I would say keep an eye on what’s out there, and apply if a job appeals to you. If you interview, you’ll get a better feel for what they might be like, plus you can compare income and benefits and all that.”

Turning her head she nuzzled his neck and then along his jawline, reveling in the scruffy feel of his beard.

“Kiss me and make it all better,” she teased.

And so he did.

And so he still does…




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