The death of 1000 paper cuts

Is that the proper saying? Or maybe it's just death by 1000 cuts (not specifically paper ones)?

Andrew asked me recently if that's how I was feeling, and my response was: 'No, maybe just 50...okay maybe just like, 8.'

The point is, I feel like although nothing monstrously terrible has happened to me (and therefore I have no real reason to complain), I have several small stessors that are pushing the camel's back awfully far.

We are in a transition year, Andrew and me. Andrew defended his PhD thesis (finally, I'm married to a doctor!) and handed it in for final approval yesterday. Now we can stop living like students (although extremely well off students...I mean I've been gainfully employed for 7 years) and we can find a more permanent place to live, but before we do that we have to pick a country, province and city to live in. And before we can do that, Andrew has to get a job.

Andrew's feeling a lot of stress right now. You might have thought that much of it would have lifted after the defense, except what we do next and where we'll live depends on him. Theoretically I could stay in my position for the rest of my working life, but that's not ideal for several reasons, among them being there's no job for Andrew at the university.

I'm not going to enumerate all the cuts here, that wouldn't be fun for me, or for you the reader. There are others, of course. Simple ones like the insistence of winter to keep happening, more complex ones for me like maintaining a healthy lifestyle, and the never ending fight to keep motivated to write and query agents and publishers.

I guess the point is, no one's life is perfect.

Perhaps it's a reminder that everyone needs now and again. Not only is no one's life perfect, but perfection isn't possible. And what's wrong with having a 'pretty good' life, or the 'best possible life I can achieve' anyway? Sometimes it seems like everyone is so hung up on obtaining perfection, they forget to just enjoy life for what it is.

I don't know, maybe I'm not making any sense. What do I know, I've never studied philosophy or divinity, or some other deep-thinking major. I'm a librarian. A messy, frustrated, stressed-out, and yet incredibly lucky, loved, and talented librarian.

So, I guess that's good enough.

In the meantime I'll keep dabbing salt water on my paper cuts.

Ciao,