Monday, I wrote about waiting for a prescription to be filled. Yesterday, I wrote about cutting the peel off an orange. I thought maybe tonight I’d write about about the pizza crust I rolled out for dinner, or the drive-thru chaos I encountered when I stopped for coffee after picking up a grocery order.

“The Slicers,” I told myself, “are going to think I do nothing but shop and eat.”

The first week of March 2020, I signed a contract for the 2020-2021 school year. But I live in an At-Will state, and in June I learned my position was being eliminated. I scrambled to find something else.

I had two interviews for elementary positions in July even though I had not worked at the elementary level in over a decade. Those interviews made it abundantly clear that I am best suited for secondary.

There was one opening at a middle school—I applied, but didn’t get an interview.

My husband has a job. I found something part time in August. We had been good about living below our means. We are okay.

I don’t feel okay.

I miss the sense of purpose that comes with working in a K-12 school.

There is an old saw that goes in New York, they ask about your address. In the South, they ask you about your church. In DC, they ask you what you do.

I grew up outside DC, and I didn’t know until I left the region that in many places, this is not considered a polite question to direct at someone you have just met.

Maybe I do need to find some new things to talk about.