in the waiting

So now I feel like a fickle and slightly silly female, but in an oddly almost-at-peace sort of way. It seems that it took “moving on” to make me realize how much I really did love my job. I made too much of the creativity that has been blooming for this whole year and, once my job was steady and under control, felt like I needed to face a new challenge, to learn something new. When all this time it was the routine, the comfortable parts of my job that were really allowing my creativity to bloom on the side; if it were not for the steady, “easy” tasks, I would not have creative juices inadvertently bursting out while on my morning commute, while wandering down the grocery aisle, while shaving my legs, etc, etc. . .
In a week of impulsive [and hormonal??] decision making, I decided to burst out from the routine. And in doing so I realized just how much I was giving up. Now I may very well have lost my job. And if so I will grieve. But, I have also called my boss and requested that, if my job is not accepted by another, I can have a second chance with it, can have my dear job back again.
No, I do not want to leave. This is why I have spent several days now crying every time I talk about leaving, why I bawled into the phone, paced around campus rapidly depleting the roll of toilet paper I was carrying with me for lack of a box of tissues, why the only other remotely interesting prospect was another job on campus . . . But I have grown attached to my work—it has been my “child” for 2 years, and I will mourn for it if I leave it now. And if I do lose my job over this, it will have been a blessed lesson learned: a lesson in what it feels like to really grow to love the role that I am here to fill, work-wise; because the truth is that the love I feel for it now is a great enough gift to carry with me even if the job is lost. So I wait . . .