Have I ever mentioned that I tend to be a very, very, very, not to mention VERY easily discouraged person?

Probably not.  But I am.  (So remember to never leave me nasty comments, or I will probably never blog again.  That's a threat, by the way, and not a promise, so don't even think about taking me up on it.)

In addition to being easily discouraged, I struggle with depression.  A lot.  I know that probably isn't obvious from reading this blog.  I have a writing personality and a rest-of-life personality, I think.  Apparently writing about life releases my inner optimist while actually living life only suppresses it.  Or something.  Ask my oldest daughter, who once commented after reading my annual semi-humorous family newsletter, "You shouldn't pretend to be a funny person when you actually aren't."  (Which struck me as an odd and illogical comment.  I attempted to explain to her that if I wrote the letter and the letter was funny, then apparently I am, in fact, a funny person.  She wasn't buying it.)

Oh, side note: I don't write those letters anymore.  I think it was the very next year that I sort of sub-consciously decided that I didn't want to write a funny newsletter when life didn't seem very funny at the moment, and I certainly couldn't write an unfunny one because I had built up all these expectations among my faithful readers... then I didn't write one the following year, nor the one after that...  At some point, too, I realized that shortly after that final newsletter, someone close to me had made fun of my casual writing style, and that was probably what actually sounded the death knell for the newsletters, although it took me a few years to figure that out.  Toldja I'm easily discouraged.

*Ahem* Long rabbit trail; sorry.  There really is a point to this 2-am-caffiene-induced ramble, and hopefully I will still remember it by the time I get to the end... if there is an end...

What was I talking about?  Oh yeah, depression and discouragement.  These days I battle both on a daily basis.  (I bet you can't say that real fast five times without saying "baily basis" at least twice.)  Because in addition to all the usual things that can so easily send me into a downward spiral of thought, I now have nagging at the back (and sides and front) of my brain the thought that I need to get a job.  And that it had better be a good one.  And that if we have to move from our wonderful house it will be all my fault for not getting off my lazy behind and helping my husband bring in some income.

That last one is a lie, of course, but it's a nagging, pervasive, persistent sort of lie that isn't easily vanquished.

Anyway.  I mentioned a month or so ago that I was thinking about looking for a job.  For the last few years I have thought that perhaps it would be good for me to have a nice little part-time job doing something I enjoy and am good at, so that I could occasionally be someone other than "mom", use my brain in some different ways, and get out of the house and *gasp* *homeschool heresy alert! homeschool heresy alert!* away from the kids.  Which was all very fine and dandy to think about when it still seemed optional.

Now I think it would be nice for me to have a little part-time job with a big fat paycheck so that I don't have to keep having to hear comments like these from Hubz:

"My goal is to hang onto the house long enough to have Cheez' graduation party here."

"We need to get rid of stuff.  It'll be that much less to move."

or have conversations like this one:

Me: When the weather gets nice, we should follow through on that idea we've always had of hosting a get-together for the other families from church who live around here.

Hubz: I guess, if we do it in June.  We should still be living here in June.

All of which makes me want to scream and throw things.

That's the depressing part.  The discouraging part comes in actually trying to find a job.  Which is probably why, despite the above dialogue, I have not been working very hard at it.

I live in one of the most economically-depressed states in the country.  My degree has sat on a shelf for 22 years, and it's the wrong degree, anyway.  I have smarts and aptitude and potential, but not enough skill and no experience or training.  And I lack confidence in a big way.  Why would I think I could get any job, let alone one that I'd enjoy and find fulfilling?

Discouragement, big time. 

I check the ads for jobs in my areas of interest and find very little.  I struggle to convert my experiences and "accomplishments" of the past 22 years into something marketable on paper and it looks ridiculous.  And I think, why do I even bother?  I have a hard time pursuing things as it is, and if the things in question seem pretty hopeless, well, forget about it.  I go to look at ads or work on my pitiful "resume", and five minutes after I start, I'm ready to give up.  That's if I even start in the first place.  Most of the time I think about it and immediately come up with some homeschooling or household task I urgently need to do at that particular moment.

So this week I've spent a few nights at that cheap-temporary-office-rental place known as a coffee shop, where I can work on that sort of stuff away from the distractions of home.  I swing my backpack into a booth and park my laptop on the table and sip coffee and type and wonder whether it all makes me look like somebody important.  You know, somebody with a job.  (One that pays, I mean.)

Are you still reading?  I'm almost to the end.  (I think.)  I still remember the point.

One of the areas in which I have interest and aptitude (but little knowledge, no experience, and the wrong degree) is editing.  And since I have a close family member in the publishing business, I also have in my possession a "test" which his department uses to evaluate editing skills of potential employees.  NOT that I am a potential employee, I hasten to say, though I wish I were.  No, I have the test simply as a means of self-evaluation to see whether I might indeed have an aptitude for and enjoyment of this sort of work.

Not that it matters, I think to myself as I edit.  I have the wrong degree, no experience, and I don't know as much as I thought I did about this stuff.  And even if I did, who's hiring?  Besides, this is silly.  This test is for 23-year-old kids fresh out of college and ready to conquer the world, not for tired old moms who want to cautiously re-enter the world and help pay the mortgage, and certainly not for tired old moms who didn't even major in English.  I need to put this away and get back to my resume, if you even want to call it that; not that it's going to do me any good...

And then it hits me.  This manuscript I'm "editing" is all about...

Discouragement.  Why it happens and what to do about it.

Funny, that.

So I stop editing for a moment and just read.  (Although it's difficult not to edit as I read, because it so badly needs it.)

It's not the best stuff I've ever read.  It's not earth-shattering, but it's interesting.  It's relevant.  It's at least somewhat helpful.

Maybe it's God.

Now that's an encouraging thought.

Do not be discouraged (my translation) about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with Thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God which passes all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 4:7-8.