"Do You Really Need to Work?"

We're taking a brief hiatus from the 25 Days of Christmas in part to a mega illness that I contracted (it's HIV, yo!) and the mental recovery of dropping the "work bomb."

I've toiled and I've troubled with this for a short bit. It was a mid-morning text from the boat (he really just emails my phone number, but that way we can have a 'conversation' when he's not flying/being awesome) when the words rang out. "We have Orders."

Gulp.

I remember exactly the day the last time this happened. I couldn't wait to give my two-week's notice then. I was burnt out and over the 'office drama' that everyone complained about (umm, I don't do drama). So one Friday, I walked into my boss' office and put my letter on her desk. "We're moving in 2 weeks." And that was it. My old job was a great blip on the employment radar. I learned a lot in life and corporate atmosphere (I worked as an Event Planner for a Legal 100 Law Firm). But damn, it wasn't hard to leave.

Now enter life in beautiful California. Other than this nasty cold spell that's plagued most of the Nation, life is perfect here....when he's not deployed, when our dog doesn't die, and when it's not rainy (like this morning). And so with a lot of counseling from past "work at home"-ers and business friends who makes sales look like stealing candy from a baby, I went forth with the plan to tell my boss the news of Wookie & Co.'s future. Almost everyone was in agreeance, "tell them early so they'll make the arrangements to keep a position for you just across the country."

Holy shit, I was an internal hot-mess.

I poured open the knowledge that our bags will be packed in a few months and the caravan across the great United States will begin. While we won't have a resident canine in tow to help make the miles more enjoyable with her lovable slobber and room-clearing flatulence, we have a petite gatita that's made a better friend than I could have imagined. So while we plan on shipping my car because it makes one less ass-pain, she'll be free to roam about the cabin as long as her tray table is in it's original location upon arrival each night and we can smuggle her into the hotel room like ninjas. Honesty is overrated.

What was I expected out of this? Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn, I wanted to provide ample opportunity so they can realize I'm not a commodity to lose. I wanted them to realize they have a few months to get everything in order for a remote Mrs. Wookie to answer the phone a week, "Good morning, this is Ashley" to my sales accounts and constant contacts. I wanted this not to be a band-aid-rip-off shock that I'm just moving without notice. I want them to pour over my sales records and customer loyalty. I want them to realize I'm a 'need' to the team.

But then the words left my boss' mouth as she soaked in the news...

"Do you really need to work?"

I. hate. these. words. And I can sense she was coming from a good place, however they just made me cringe. But she did warn that there is the reality that her upper management won't want a so-remote Mrs. Wookie, and that's the slice of pie I'll have to dollop with a mega coating of cool whip.

Who wants to help eat my feelings?

Define "need." Do we financially need me to work? No. We are fine with just one income (his). But what does that leave me? I get to be a housewife? Ummm...no thanks. Why did I go to college then? What would I do all day? I already feel like an incomplete person just after relocation because I have nothing 'going for me.' Yes, it's nice to settle into the house and explore the new area...but after 2 weeks, the jig is up. I'm a feminist with a pretty sturdy foundation that women can do a lot in this world (minus throwup after being kicked in the crotch) and that includes hustling a non-1950's Secretary paycheck. So why would I want to decline the twice-monthly deposits into the ol' bank account?

So my conversation ended just before the 5:30pm mark. I knew my boss needed a cocktail to soak in the news. And I need a drive home to escape. So into the car I got, tears brimming at my eyes, feeling like a failed at trying to negotiate my own future and happiness amidst Uncle Sam. I sent Mr. Wookie an email, but what I really wanted was a hug. A big, deep bearhug.

Once home, I didn't open the margaritas. I didn't open a bottle of wine. And I didn't open a beer. I sat on the couch with my loving feline, obtuse to any knowledge that I just dropped the "work bomb" as we've coined it. She just wanted a place to snuggle while my feet were propped onto the coffee table. And together we watched Jeopardy and then a marathon of Say Yes to the (Overpriced) Dress before calling it a night. But still...I tossed and turned the whole night. What will come of this? Will they make the arrangements to super-remote me? Will they offer a handshake and stack of letters of recommendation instead?

Part of me wishes I would have waited until Mr. Wookie is home that way I could have had the comfort of an actual hug with this situation. But out of discomfort comes growth, and this deployment has just reassured that I'm still as bad ass as I thought I could be (though sometimes it's nice to be a chickenshit, lol). So I just wait for my hug now in __ days (and get to cleaning the house before he comes home - crap!).

And yes, I've already started my secret Pinterest board for my Job Search 2014. I've worked hard for my resume, why give up now? So the suits and heels will get dusted off once we're settled, I'll start networking my old connections, and something will happen. Something always happens.