Fairytale Medication

I brought my computer along to the hospital last week, thinking that as Sophie whiled away the hours in dreamland, I would whip out a novel or something. Oh, refreshing naivety. Sophie did much more crying than sleeping, and when I found myself with a spare hour Friday morning, I had the following number of brain cells with which to write my novel: -2. I opted for mindless busy work instead and got to reorganizing my e-mail.

The significance of this completely boring story is that I ran across an e-mail from four months ago that I had never seen before. I suppose my old hard drive destroyed it in a fit of petulance, and oh. Deep breaths. You see, this e-mail was an out-of-the-blue offer for my dreamiest of dream jobs from a company I adore. It was fairytale material, folks; not only did the glass slipper fit, it came with a side of work-from-home and compliments aplenty. After I scraped myself off the hospital ceiling, I wrote back to tell them yes, I love you, yes.

And then I discovered that the person offering me the job is no longer employed by the company. I have since tried to make other contacts, but no luck; this little story seems to have reached The End. I am self-medicating with logic—after all, I was plenty happy before I knew about the offer—but sheer disappointment is still clinging to my week.

I keep hoping that there’s some cosmic purpose in my not finding the e-mail until too late. The two times I was turned away from grad school brought this same heartsick confusion… until pregnancy and then an impending move to Italy gave gentle reassurance that I was already where I needed to be. Both times, Something Better was just around the corner. It’s hard to believe that Something Better than my dream job is in store for the coming months, but experience has taught me that trust is far better medicine than logic is, and perhaps—just perhaps—my fairy godmother is still waiting to make her grand entrance.