Make Yourself Useful

I had a dream, almost nightmare, last night that I had to get a job at Wal-Mart. No offense to Wal-Mart or people who work there. Derick even worked there during the first couple summers we were married, and it kept food on the table. However, in my nightmare, they had this huge cardboard box full of "work shirts," blue of course, in all different sizes. Most of the shirts were the typical navy polos that I guess Wal-Mart employees still wear, but some of them were a cool tie-dyed teal and white. When I took one of the tie-dyed ones out, the boss said I couldn't have it because the collar wasn't at least two inches long. So I had to wear a navy polo. Then, I saw some workers (whom I attended high school with) in the distance wearing their blue polos and cute black tights with black boots. When I asked if we had to wear khakis, they said yes and that those girls were "exceptions." Then, I had to buy a baby shower gift for someone and I was running all around Wal-Mart because I didn't know what to buy. (I mean, why not do your errands on your first day of work?) Not once did I look in the actual baby section for the gift. I kept picking up wine and these weird rainbow bowls that said "Skittles" on the side. I finally chose the Skittles bowl, filled it up with mini Reece's cups and stuck in a $20 gift card with a rubber duck picture on it. What a weird baby gift, but I can almost see myself buying that for someone.
I guess this strange dream stems from the small amount of anxiety I've been having about finding a job. What?? Kem want's a job?! I know, hard to believe, and it's not that I really want a job. I loved my last job, but I must say I am not made for working full-time. Some people are good at that. Some people thrive while working 8-5, but I do not. I don't like being cooped up all day long, and I don't like heading home just when the sun is going down. I also really missed my dog when I had full-time jobs, and I refuse to leave her along all day, everyday. Some dogs are good at that. Some dogs thrive home alone, but Paris does not.
I've decided I need a job, though, because all my best friends aren't conveniently living next door to me anymore. Quantico was a good place for me to be unemployed because we only had one vehicle (haven't we been over this?) and my friends, also unemployed, lived in the same apartment complex that I lived in, and we would always have something planned for the day. A job would have just been in my way in Quantico.
Here in Jacksonville, my day consists of getting out of bed way too late, watching The View and getting really ticked about how they treat Elisabeth, eating lunch and snacking, taking Paris out a couple times, doing some sort of interior alteration (yesterday, I painted a DVD shelf, our TV stand, and another bottle, and I can't upload the pics on here. I'm useless.), rummaging around on mobile Facebook for too long, and waiting for Derick to come home so we can watch Weeds on Netflix. Even reading that makes me feel a little bummish and lazy. Lazy, yes, I am lazy. I will be the first to admit that I like sleeping and napping and sitting around and not doing anything productive.
Bummish, however, I am not. Well, I don't want to be. I take pride in my cleaning and organizing abilities. Not working allows me to keep a tidy house (which was just a vaporous dream when I did work) and supper on the table by the time Derick gets home. Being a housewife is a real job, and I don't care what anyone says about that. I've been from one end of the spectrum (working) to the other (where I am now), and let me tell you, the household duties, that once were ignored because of our work schedule, are difficult to complete in one day. I think there's a big difference between being a housewife and being a lazy bum, and I hope that, at this point in my life, I am a housewife.
Because a job for me would be more of a past-time and a way to get some extra spending cash, I can be really picky about the job I take. That would be so if there were a ton of jobs for me to pick from, but the job market is, well, the job market, and I don't want to work at the Gap again. No offense. I really loved working there with all those cool peeps and getting cheap jeans with my employee discount, but I'm 25 with a college degree. No need to step back in time.
That's another funny subject. My college degree. Now, let me say that I am super proud of my degree because I worked my butt off to obtain it as well as my really high GPA, which I did not do as well obtaining in high school. Those four years, though a stupid memory in some ways, were hands down the best thing I ever suffered through. I was blessed enough to have relatively helpful scholarships, but more so to have extremely supportive and gracious parents who payed for the remainder of that big, fat, private college tuition bill.
That being said, on really sad days, I really want to ask myself, "What the heck were you thinking when you majored in Liberal Arts?" I mean, what can you do with a Liberal Arts degree??
Then I remember one of my favorite English professors, Mr. Gibbens, and his soulful explanations on how useful, even important, a Liberal Arts degree is. And, let me tell you one thing. Without my degree and all the education I received from Williams Baptist College, you would have stopped reading this blog about four posts ago. Being a good writer is partially just talent, or in my case, genetics. But the training I received in college made me a better, more deliberate, and even confident writer.
The other day, I was unpacking our books to put on our bookshelf and I came across my journal from the summer before my freshman year at WBC, and it was ridiculous! It really made my stomach turn, not because of the content but because of the horrible style I used. That may be because I was a juvenile, but it was mostly because, at that point, I had received no formal training on how to write effectively. And I needed that training. My mom and sister just have a natural talent when it comes to writing, and I guess I do, too, but I needed someone to teach me about metadiscourse and saying more with less, and my professors did that for me.
So, there's my plug for WBC. I will move on.

The Marine Corps offers financial assistance to spouses who want to further their education. However, I am so intelligent, I don't really think my education can be furthered. Kidding. Of course, I'm going to take advantage of that. It's free money, and education is useful and important.
But, I'm really at a standstill on work and school until we get another vehicle. It's really weird to be literally stuck at home, and maybe that's where my anxiety has rooted. I have all the time in the world to sit at home and feel guilty for not contributing and just relaxing in my pajamas and snacking and watching The View, while my husband goes to work every morning to, oh not do that much, just defend the United States of America.
I know Derick's proud of me, and I love that I'm able to make the bed every day and keep up with the laundry and dishes and show Paris some attention. I love my life, and I'm grateful that God has allowed us to be comfortable enough that I don't have to work. It is just an adjustment for me to go from having a job and a schedule and responsibilities to being on my own time and without a vehicle.
In all this, I have a new respect for stay-at-home wives who keep their homes clean, and put food on the table for their men, and take care of their Angel Dogs, and watch The View without using vulgar language, and stay in the house all day but make themselves useful by applying their abilities to keeping a good home.
When I was growing up, my parents would always use the phrase, "make yourself useful." Like, "Make yourself useful and go put this glass in the kitchen." Or, "Make yourself useful and go clean your room." Or, "Make yourself useful and stop talking for about ten minutes." Ok, maybe not so much the last one. But, I'm realizing some magic in that statement, "make yourself useful." Not all of us are made to work full-time or to be doctors or musicians or mechanics or Marines. But we are all here with our own abilities and strengths, and we all have the opportunity to use what we have to be useful.
I hope that in all facets of my life and every day, I make myself useful. Being unemployed, by choice or not, does not make someone a failure or a loser or a lazy bum. Someone becomes those things when they stop contributing their usefulness.

May we all put to use the resources and abilities we've been given! Now, go make yourself useful.