One foot in front of the other.
Tomorrow’s the day we say we’re through.
I could give you more, but instead, I need more.
One foot in front of the other.
Tomorrow’s the day we say we’re through.
I could give you more, but instead, I need more.
And if there was a magic cast, it was a wild magic, so that it did not land precisely, and where it landed, it did not do what it was meant to do.
I am contemplating this job. The job would be back in the same town I grew up, working with the same circle of people, albeit from a different perspective, as the job I spent eight years struggling at before leaving before this new job that has been so wildly detrimental to me and my life.
If I can allow myself to float past the idea that on its face, I don’t have the precise requirements they are looking for and just move into the idea of what it would be like to be in the job itself, it is hard to imagine myself as capable of doing it. Sort of. I don’t know. Each individual piece is part of a puzzle I was working on, too. I know the acronyms, the faces, the area, the issues, the struggles, the gossip. I know the bitchy complainers and the people who pitch in and help wildly. I have friends in most directions.
However, I know that there’s some poisoned relationships I’d now be on the opposite side of. I know that in the years since I’ve been gone, my job has been vacated twice and people are grumpy and displeased with my boss’ replacement. I would be working in concert with the person in my old boss’ role, the person who has been spending the past few years trying to get things organized after my time of struggle and learning. I don’t like the idea of sitting across the table from people who have not had an easy time of it and that’s because of me. I ran like hell to get out of that situation.
I guess I feel a little bit like Typhoid Admin, that every job I exit seems to have increasing levels of desperation associated with it when I go.
Each individual part of the job feels like I could do that. But in sum total, without the degree in the field, just my 8 years effectively standing with my foot in the door, maybe that’s just asking to fail. It’s a job where I will have to be assertive, a self-starter, a person in charge of other people. Can I do that? Today, today, I think I can. It feels in my mind like what I would say when I feel pressure to please regardless of whether or not it’s true. But everyone says that it’s only for me to set up my qualifications and say I’m a fast learner and ready to go.
And for that money, a comfortable place to work and get to, health insurance, where I don’t have to start from square one. It’s worth a shot. It’s worth getting laughed out the door.
+300 words elsewhere
I am such a medical marvel. I feel much, much better overall, just of course, beyond a few instances when I thought my scalp was on fire, I was allergic to strawberries, my face was as red as Violet Beauregarde’s was blue, or that I was having some form of conniption. Or the subtle ache in my legs. Beyond that, the neck and teeth felt 10 times better than I expected them to. I feel a little bit closer to what I ought to be, typically. Just…odd, like something’s radiating out of me and acting weird as it runs through my body. Still. Here we are.
Can’t get too hung up on that for now for reasons asserted earlier.
Tomorrow, I am a shop girl and we talk about the future. My mentor has found another person for me to send my resume to – someone who is not a stranger to me, per se. It used to be, many moons ago – perhaps I wrote about it here, I should check, that a very elderly man came by the center where I worked. He was gregarious, chatty, self-amused. One of those flirtatious old men who could be mildly flirtatious and it wouldn’t bother you because he was both so old and so kindly with it. And he decided I had a nickname – he called me Happy. Mostly, I imagine, because I put on the good show and welcomed him and chatted with him and didn’t ignore him as people might be wont to do with someone so willing to hang about and comment on life as it passed by. Apparently I made enough of an impact that I got invited to his 95th birthday party. I didn’t know anyone, but that’s never been the sort of restriction to stop me if I’m curious and willing otherwise to respond to an invitation. There, I realized that his daughter and granddaughters knew who I was, too, and as they were likable and warm-hearted people, I didn’t mind this either.
He was a very nice man, who, sadly, if naturally, passed away a few years ago. His daughter is the one who will be taking a look at my resume. I will have to learn tomorrow what she even does.
I had a long conversation with a co-worker. Her frustration is the same as ours and I can only say at this point what I feel. I can’t continue this way. So, I’m looking. She, being another kind, good spirit (I am surrounded by them constantly), says good for you and I believe she means it. We’re all worn down by this, caring, understanding the reasons, wishing it were otherwise…none of that shifts the reality that I want stability so that I can start pulling together the story of my writing life.
Also, I killed a spider in my shower. I did it because of Mary Oliver, Nietzsche, and my earnest desire for cleanliness. I didn’t want to do it, I tried to sic the cat after it, but in the end, it was me.
My hands hurt today so I’m avoiding writing this.
Work. It’s a curious thing. I was really flipping out about work, about the recent resignations, worried about what Monday would bring. Now, the plans are back in place for me to return to full-time, my sister as well. And as one might expect, I am of seriously mixed emotions about this. I began thinking that nothing would be feasible to change by next month when the application for the government job might possibly need me to start (if on the very off-chance I were to get it) and that I could just continue this way until I had to make the big shift out of both jobs. Now, potentially, on paper, at least, I would be back to full-time and back to the regular grind and would be able to quit the little shop job and be able to pay my bills, etc.
But, the resignations don’t suddenly create money so I feel like there’s still reason to go ahead with the application and see if I even get an interview. Even though it’s hard when there’s such a profound sense of internal restructuring and perhaps, a light at the end of this particular tunnel, as I have begun to feel attached to my little shop job. To its limitations of scope. To the people and to the way I was feeling capable or am feeling capable there. I close, I help, I listen, and they care about me. It’s not an instantaneous care, and I’ve goofed up, but it feels legit. Having to leave that behind for this job where I feel so out of my depth and where the feeling is so…difficult and prickly at times, even though, it will give me what I need to get back on an even financial keel, is depressing me. I am contemplating offering to keep working there on Saturdays and using that money to pay off debt and keep my employee discount. Possibly.
We did talk about me doing more writing at the big job, doing more of the website redesign, more of things other than operations, to which I tried to pivot into renegotiating my whole job description but ended up only really getting to the point where we would have to take a look at everything. Everything for everyone. That was more than I thought today would have lead me towards, so, I will do what I can until I can get some perspective. Day by day and bird by bird.
Today also featured Babymetal performing at an award show and delighting me, the RNC sickening me, my playlist for my mother coming together and now I have help to add to it and keep it growing and hearing her stress over having to do an MRI today which she hates. Which anyone would hate. I feel helpless in the very tone of her voice when I call to see if she wants to go to lunch, but instead, you know…there’s stuff to do. Cancer stuff that has to be done and I am just wanting to go to lunch. But am not turning away. I will keep going so she can see me doing that and do it, too.
Thing one. I refuse to be a prisoner of my thoughts, which is to say I refuse to categorize thoughts which are okay to think, and fretful, frightening thoughts as elsewise. It creates such a cell. If a stray news story about bone marrow comes, I flip the channel, I can’t allow it in. I can’t let it touch me. And that is not a way to live.
I still have not heard news on my mother and I am recalcifying around the desire to know. I will have to know. I will have to be involved. I want to support and be there. But I have such a thing in my head related to health and bad health news for the people I care about that I feel as though I am waiting for someone to shoot me with a gun. That there is no middle ground option and there absolutely, most likely, will be. There are a whole range of options and possibilities and I am just the person standing around hearing the news. Not, at this moment, the person going through it. I think I feel as though my empathy means I could get close enough to experience it as if it were happening to me, and then, somehow, it will be happening to me.
We have the family history. We have it in spades and I don’t want to think even jot one about it. Not even in terms of sane life precautions.
That…is a mental project.
I did not quit my job today though I was closer than I have been yet this morning driving in. Pressed up against the wall with things I can do nothing about, the prospect of being able to shift into something stable and away from everything making me crazy felt like the only out available to me.
There was a lot of talk with the boss. I explained about this other issue, this poker in my side, even though I wasn’t totally sure I should. She’s my boss, not the poker. So, I feel like I have to respect my empathy. Even if it sometimes puts me as last priority as I experience the suffering of others, it still is a deep and amazing gift. Just to know that you’re not wholly closed off. That the palette still has all of its colors.
I am still going to apply to the job I found yesterday. I do still want it, a night’s sleep has not changed that, but I think it’s a lot more sane to casually look and apply than to leap off the tall building and hope that the law of averages would catch me. We’ve experienced that enough in our family and I know that’s not the safe way to go. I just felt so…gah, I need to get paid. And I got paid, today. We all got paid. It’s a bandaid on a gusher, but I could at least get one piece of what I am due to pay out to the world out and that was something. My austerity plans will have to continue apace. It’s not all that far that we can keep this up.
Here we are.
I feel quite a bit after a quiet day at the shop. After thinking about how it is possible that I am dancing towards depression again. I’m kicking around the edge of my friendly neighborhood abyss. I can’t make myself do so much as fix the sheets on my bed, and am barely taking a shower, not wearing makeup again, I’m…seeing all the signs. I’m wigged out and numb at the same time. I am thinking about my future, of course, what we will learn tomorrow regarding my mother, and what will happen at the other job.
I have found a job I want to apply for. I’m getting myself together, but it’s a federal government job. This is not a flexible, oooshy-smooshy, feel-good job. This is not a wiggly job. But, right now, this is also something that it has going for it in my mind. It is permanent, insofar as anything is permanent, it is bonafide. It is a girl clocks in, a girl clocks out. And a girl builds up her nest egg so that she could open her own little shop someday. Or be one of these ladies who works in a shop and buys what she pleases. Things are locked into place and you have to bend to fit them, but they don’t bend back out of the blue and snap your neck.
I can type as quickly as they require, I could make as much as I am now. I can do what they ask. They have benefits. They have time off. It would just be steady. My creativity could build and exist outside of that. Of course, it would be draining, of course the location is not perfection and is further away than my little lady-legs would like me to have to consider going on a daily basis, and of course, there are assholes and struggles that would have to be contended with, but right now, steady, secure, just do what you’re asked and make the amount of money you need to make to buy the outfits they pick out for you at the shop is what I want so much. To be able to have savings again. To be able to have the big monstrous machine and its rules back me up. To be able to buy the food and have the bandwidth I need to get back on weight loss track. That’s big for me right now.
Obviously, there’s no guarantee that my wanting it in anyway impacts my potential for getting it. That and it’s still almost 2 months until I could start work if I could progress through the interview process. Still, I am feeling so anxiety-ridden and my brain is compacted and freaked out about so many things and I feel…right now…like I want to be doing the right thing for me in totality. I want to be looking out on the horizon and realizing how much what is doesn’t work for me. And like the viral picture and quote goes…don’t hang onto a mistake just because you’ve spent a long time making it.
So, yeah, tomorrow, I’m sending my resume in.
Very interesting. I feel like the font changed on this thing – or this particular posting screen, as it seems there are several. I don’t know why I like it, but I do. Maybe it makes me feel more professional or erudite than I, or my topics, generally require.
So, my cousin/business coach + a strong macchiato (one of those artisanal, hand-roasted, coffee beans were psychically encouraged and played Mozart sort of places – only, you know, with a result that feels really worth the extraordinarily cheap price) meant I feel better. This is also the coffee shop where I’ve been on two dates which also ended two amusing and somewhat fulfilling flirtations, so I think of it now as sort of an emotional bug-zapper. I go there and feel big things – for better or worse.
She said if it were possible to set aside the anxiety about the money – could you look at this time like a gift? After some hemming and hawing, I think, I think I might be able to do that. I can buckle down and get something written beyond these posts. I can do some work and get something out of this even if I didn’t choose it. So, I guess, my plan for the first week is to just to feel that one out by making myself come home and use the afternoons for writing and, potentially, for sussing out a new job if that comes to be something I need to deal with. She also gave me some ideas in that regard, too.
At this moment, for open projects, I have the novel that my sister and I are working on, my short story that I am doing for writers’ group/pleasure, my big novel of love and pain that has to eventually be finished, and now this whole weird collection of excerpts from this whole daily blogging adventure woven into some other essays I’ve written and other ideas I have about fear, anxiety, and where I am at and aiming for. That one is obviously personal and the major block is I need to change enough to justify continuing it. If that makes any sense at all. I just feel like maybe there’s something I have to say that might be of value. It’s weird. Every time I want to throw that one out, I find a reason to keep plucking at it.
That’s a bit too much, really, and so I have to pick and choose and I constantly think I’m choosing the wrong thing and feel as though I’m cruelly neglecting the others. Really, what I need is to finish something. So I am forging ahead with whatever I can do when I can do it.
Maybe it’s the shot of caffeine, but I feel pretty creative and energetic right now. And I still have one more day off, holy smokes!
Weight this morning indicated that I lost 1.8 lbs last week. Okay. So about 8 pounds in 8 weeks. Okay. Sure. Well. I am good with that. I don’t know what the next month or two of privations will mean, but this is a result of tracking on My Fitness Pal, fitting in exercise, eating much less, messing up, messing up again. Just working on it. Prioritizing it. So. Yeah. Let’s not count any chickens or any eighths of chickens.
But yep. Onwards and inwards.