third glaze, newfound joblessness, and The Great Corsica Escapade Backstory

Edit : I just added this post to Show and Tell, since, er, I’m showing. And telling.

1.) Still plugging away at little miss monochrome. Manboy has steered clear from zee studio since my last post.

((guilty sneer))

Here is the painting (still in progress) after my third glaze.

2.) I got laid off, or rather negotiated an end to my contract at work, or rather, something in between the two today.

It’s okay, you don’t have to be sorry. I had a cool job, as a bathroom/kitchen designer. But my boss was the devil. And getting laid off rather than quitting means that in theis country where we pay taxes out the wazoo I get benefits, and a bit of time to figure out what the next step is.

It isn’t official until August 31st, so I actually have the summer to just chill and reflect.

3.) And speaking of reflecting…

Remember way back when once upon a time I did IVF and then got all crazy hopes up when I was having preggers symptoms and wanting to puke and then I tested positive and there was this whole drama about low betas and then the little speck just couldn’t hang on and poof it was gone?

Remember how I was heartbroken and I was emailing some of you and some of you were writing and all lovey and nice and warm thoughts and well wishes and whatnot?

Remember how it made me feel not so alone as I crossed the Barren Desert of Suck and cried and cried and tried not to act like my whole world was gone?

Well I do. And I remember every one of your emails and thoughts and commments. Well, maybe not your thoughts, but the idea of you having thoughts…

And then I got this email from another blogger (a mommyblogger, gasp!) whom I happen to be friends with on Facebook. I’ve always liked this girl, she seems to have the fun kind of ADD (please take that as a compliment Cara, please…) and she and her hubster moved to our great nation of France, more specifically Corsica a few years ago to live on love on an island paradise. Well, we’ve never met, in person, and had never even spoken with words, you know, like on a telephone, until a few days ago, but this wonderful thing happened to Manboy and I when we were in the throes of a very fresh blow and a very hollow grief.

I got an email, rather a message on facebook, entitled ‘Corsican Vacation?’

Remember what I said about people telling you to go on vacation and get pregnant? Well, I think after that email, such a statement rightfully deserves proper context:

“Never tell someone they will get pregnant if they just go on vacation but do feel totally free to lend them your home on an island paradise.”

Kids, when I say we are broke, please understand that Manboy and I were going to spend his three weeks of vacation reorganizing the attic and alphabetizing God knows what in order to not go start raving mad. Then this happened. And it was like, oh, maybe I can make it just a few more weeks and be hollow and sad and cry sometimes here and worry about my husband who is working so hard at his job and working so hard to hold this all inside. Maybe I can make it, even if it excruciating, just a little bit longer, since in just a few more days his skin will turn to olive (damn French) and mine to tomato and our bodies will be greasy and sandy and we will lie on that abandoned beach…

and forget everything.