Part 25 (2/2)

”Are you sad? Depressed? What are you feeling right now?”

”Nothing. I don't feel anything.” Fletch got like this to a lesser extent when we first started dating. I quickly convinced him that depression was no big thing. I explained that if he had diabetes, he'd take insulin. Since depression's a disease, if he needed a drug to cure it, there'd be no stigma in taking it. I sent him off to the student health center for meds, and it was smooth sailing emotionally for years.

”Isn't your medicine working? Do you need a stronger dose?”

”We can't afford my pills and groceries. I made a choice and I chose to feed us.”

”How long have you been off of them?”

”A couple of months. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry.”

Fletch sacrificed his mental health to provide for mine.

I do not deserve this man.

It's time I start shouldering some of the emotional burdens around here. I don't know how, but I'm going to find a way to fix everything.

”Hi, I'm calling to find out if your hospital offers mental health services on a sliding scale....”

”Yes, I'm looking for a low-to no-cost depression management program for my husband....”

”So you're not sure if your clinic is accepting pro bono patients? Can you check, please? It's really important....”

”I read about your experimental treatment program, and I want to find out if my husband is eligible to enroll...”

”You guys are my last chance-can I get him into this program or not? Uh...OK, well, please don't think me rude for saying it this way-but FIND A WAY TO MAKE IT HAPPEN.”

OK, he's in.

Next up, find anything that will provide a paycheck. And until then, I'm practicing Microsoft Word tutorials.

To: Staffing Manager From: Date: June 17, 2003 Subject: Marketing Coordinator Posting on Monster.com Dear Sir or Madam, Attached you will find my resume sent in con sideration for the open Marketing Coordinator position. And before you say it, please allow me...

”This person is overqualified for this position.”

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let me explain why I'm an ideal candidate for the job. Since I was laid off from an executive position back in 2001, I worked a variety of temp a.s.signments while searching for a 'real' job.169 I've built my office skills and I can answer phones, collate, and plan executive travel with the best of them. Taking these a.s.signments170 has instilled a sense of humility I'd previously been lacking and now I'm certainly not above fetching your lunch or dry cleaning. The added bonus for your organization is that in a pinch I can also manage your ad campaigns, write your press releases, and target new clients. But you're still probably thinking...

”She's going to split the second she finds something better. She already alluded to getting a 'real' job.”

Not true. My priorities have changed since I was laid off. Now my goal is to get my writing published, not to pursue the kind of career I used to have. I'm looking for a position that will allow me to leave my job at the office at the end of the day so that I can go home and write.

”We'll never be able to afford her.”

Try me. You might be surprised to find out exactly how cheap I am.

Best, Jennifer A. Lancaster

”Gah, what am I supposed to wear to this thing?” I am rus.h.i.+ng frantically around our bedroom, trying to decide what to put on for my interview. By the time the hiring manager received my note, she'd already found a full-time person for the marketing job, but she liked what I wrote so much that she wants to talk to me about a three-week temp a.s.signment. If I got it, I'd bring home about $1500 total, which means we could cover July's rent!

Fletch sits on the end of the bed, watching me. He was actually up and out of the house with the dogs by nine thirty a.m. His meds have regulated and every day he seems a little more like himself. Last night, stone sober, he actually laughed out loud at the scene on The Family Guy where Peter Griffin turns his house into a huge puppet. I've never heard a more beautiful sound.

”What's wrong with what you've got on right now?” he asks, completely deadpan. I'm wearing a towel turban, a ratty old bra, and a cutoff pair of sweatpants. I paw through my antiquated wardrobe and settle on a summer dress and lightweight cotton jacket.

I throw on my makeup and dry my hair. ”Hey, Fletch, do you have any girly-smelling cologne?”

”Um, no. Why do you ask?”

”I'm completely out of perfume and this jacket reeks of mothb.a.l.l.s. I need something to mask the scent.” I throw open all the bathroom drawers and paw through my old accessory cases, hoping to stumble across one of those free miniperfume vials that clerks used to toss in my bag when I'd buy my J'Adore Dior. I've got none, and I mentally kick myself for throwing them all away in a fit of undying love for my signature scent. And I don't have any fas.h.i.+on magazines, so I can't even rub a scented sample page across myself.

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