I've been in grad school since January, spending (allegedly) 25 hours a week on that, plus 35 hours a week of work, plus being a single mom. Somehow that all worked fine until late spring, when my gears started popping out and no amount of coffee could make me go any more.
I had a bit of a crisis, trying to figure out the purpose of life and human existence on the world. Then I realized that I was just tired. (And how typical of my coping skills that, when I'm feeling overwhelmed, I decide to take on something bigger, so that I can have no way to succeed.)
I decided that either the job needed to go, or school did (since clearly the parenting piece is immovable). That prompted another crisis, during which I decided I needed to move. When I settled down, I decided that it has to be the job, and that I'm staying in this apartment for the time being. Maybe.
It's taken me six months and a lot of planning, but I finally decided that it's time, so I gave my notice at work, my last day being September 1.
But how are you going to live? you ask, your brow wrinkled in concern.
Pshaw, I answer. I shrug at such concerns!** I may be getting a roommate. I'll be working part time, and I have a workstudy job. Plus sucking at the government teat so that that I can be a better mom and better person.
Now it's just a matter of waiting. I've never been unemployed; I've been working full time pretty much since I turned 18--minus seven weeks to give birth and take care of a newborn, and one semester at college when I was living off an insurance settlement (three broken toes & a near death experience = $4,000. really).
So I'm looking forward to having time to actually parent--I'll be meeting my daughter right off the bus from school! We'll have six whole hours a day together! Which is a huge improvement over the skimpy three we get now, half of which is taken up with supper.
And how secure is a job anyway? They could fire me at any time, or cut my position due to budgetary issues, or figure out how much time I spend blogging instead of filing.
Guess we'll see.
**That's a joke. Actually, thinking about it makes me want to pee my pants so I just try not to think about it.