Just before we got in the car to come home from church, Jenna had asked me what was wrong. Evidently, I was wearing an expression of sadness or despair. Perhaps I should not use quotes as I don't fully remember the conversation, but I'm going to use quotations anyway. This is only an approximation.
Jenna (playfully joking): "Are you sad because you don't have choir practice?"
Me (sarcastically; keep in mind that I DO NOT have a great singing voice and would rather eat than practice): "Oh, yes. That must be it"
Jenna: "What's wrong?"
At that exact moment in time, I was dreading money spent wastefully - but I don't wish to share my thoughts with her because I know she'll feel bad, and my fourteen-year-old shouldn't be concerned over family finances the way that I am. Not that what I shared with her was any better - in fact, it was probably worse.
"Oh, dad and I were watching program this morning about health and happiness in the workplace. Dad has never been happy about this job that he has currently. I think that's why he's been sick for so long.
"This morning's program interviewed a man who had a job that paid good money but he was not happy. He quit his job to become a fireman which he loves, but he isn't even making a third of what he did. But he is happier. We're always making sacrifices. Dad does his job to support us. And now he has a boss who evidently attended the school of Hitler management and feels like he is walking on eggshells all of the time. I think that's why he's been sick for so long. He just can't seem to shake it.
"My health has been so much better in Oregon than it was in Salt Lake. I have been so much happier overall. I don't feel as much stress. But if we have to move again so dad can get his business started, I will be the one who is sick. Accounting doesn't make me happy. I don't want to be part of a business. So either he is going to be sick or I am.
"And I just learned another great Uncle has passed away this month. He had dementia when he passed. Uncle Ned had dementia too. And my grandma may have had a touch of it after she was admitted to the hospital for the last time. She had asked dad and me to take her home, but she didn't even know who we were."
Jenna and I were both crying. My mom had dementia. Perhaps it's hereditary. I'm 15-20 years younger than mom had been when she was diagnosed, but this "goldfish memory" thing seems to be more frequent. It's highly probable that I'll get dementia also.
There is only one traffic light downtown and another in Tri-City. We were at the second light when I realized what the most recent "trigger" took place. It hadn't anything to do with our current spending or our health.
"I hate primary," I said. I have been in the primary for over 40 years of my life and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of practicing for the annual program. I really don't mind teaching, but I am tired of babysitting the children who don't wish to be there or just have no concept of why they're there.
"I'm going to be stuck in primary forever! The only way a person can ever get released from a calling is by developing a love for it so much that he/she doesn't want to be released. That is when they get released. That is how it works. I am going to be stuck in primary forever because I don't love it. On the plus side, I will never be called to be the Relief Society president."
Jenna laughed.
"No, I am serious. I can't be in the primary and Relief Society at the same time."
Just before we reached our driveway, I shared another reason to be sad. I think I'm allergic to chocolate. And I LOVE chocolate. I love chocolate more than I hate primary. How awful and sad to love something that may not love you back.
