anonym

So torn.

So very, very divided between the love and career.

For years now, I've been dying to go back to school and get a diploma and start on my way to having a very real job. Not one of those jobs for spare cash, or to save up for something you really want to do. You know, to be at the end of the road where you're actually doing what you love.

I'm about 99% sure I want to be a Librarian, or at the very least a Library Technician. Yes, I'm dying to be even more of a dork than I already am. The smell of musty old books, the textures of paper and leather and binding string under my fingertips, the sight of rows upon rows of other's fantasies and opinions all ready and waiting for you. Not to mention, I think I'd be one fucking hot-ass Librarian. I've got the funky glasses down pat already, after all.

What's the problem, then? Him. The boy. The love. He loves small-town-by-the-lake-living more than anyone I've ever met. His passions and his career and our house are already settled here. In order to do what I want, the only schools that teach this course are in Toronto and Ottawa. He'll never come with me. He hates the hustle and bustle and the sirens until dawn. Me? I find it quite comfortable and don't know if I could even come back to a city so limited in thought and culture.

Sarnia feels like a redneck retirement community, with a population of 80,000. Not fun, unless you're wrinkly and like cow-tipping.

Now, I ask myself, "Am I being selfish?" I have a house, an okay job, a cat, a backyard and one of the best men in the world by my side here. Only here though, and nowhere else. Hence the problem.

Goddamnit.

No, I don't expect you to solve my problems. I just needed to rant. In written form. With words. Precious, precious words.