The Road is a Jealous Mistress

This weekend is a motorcycle rally in North Carolina. There’s this one stretch on U.S. 129 that cuts its way through the southern Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina and eastern Tennessee. 318 curves in 11 miles! Any stretch of road that has its own map with the sites of fatal crashes (31 since 1995) is not for the faint of heart.

Two months ago, Mr. Gaelic received my blessing and encouragement to go. Now into my second full month of a paying job search, that blessing seems like a bane to me. The job outlook is becoming quite discouraging.

Discouragement comes in the form of multiple rejection letters. On a daily basis. Up to four rejection letters in a single day. Working the till at Barnes & Noble is beginning to look appealing.

To keep the discouragement at bay, Mr. Gaelic offers hugs to take the edge off those rejections. With his absence, no hugs for the good part of a week. He needs his personal time for recreation from his demanding job. My neediness shouldn’t impede his needs.

I realize that I’m being childish in wanting him to scrub the ride and rally. It’s just damn hard getting psyched to send him away. Like finding a job to pay for college, it’s something that I’ll do because we’re family.