This has been … this has been quite a few weeks.
There’s so much I want to talk about, and yet everything’s pretty jumbled together and only ideas are spurting out here and there.
One of the big (negative) things around these parts lately is that I hate my job with a force unknown to man.
And I have no idea where it came from.
But I can not seem to get myself out of bed and to the bus with anything less than Herculean force and power. I am coaxing myself from 5:40 AM, when I wake up, to 4:!5 PM, when I get off work, that it is going to be all right. I struggle with coworkers that want to do the bare minimum of work, an unsupportive management team, and a handful of nutso parents.
A good example is of how I need pictures printed so I can put them up on the wall because the RM is coming tomorrow. As I type this, I’m stifling a laugh because it sounds so simple, so stupid — I need a fuckin’ handful of pictures printed! Doesn’t that seem like something that any other job would have handled in about 30 seconds? There was about a five hour wait by management before I was informed that the computer wasn’t printing. I hear this excuse about once a week, it is so untrue and overused.
I feel about my job the way I felt about high school — moments of hope in a cess pool of disaster.
I come home, and I write. The words, whether brilliant or stupid, rush off my fingers onto the page. Some days I write five words, others two thousand.
I fall asleep with Husband, entwined as if it is our last night together. We separate and come together, over and over, throughout the night.
I use the weekends as an escape from the agony of work. I play with my niece and snuggle my nephew. We renewed our zoo membership and went twice within seven days; I talk to zoo volunteers and keepers as if we are friends and am told by one that I should definitely, definitely volunteer. We spend $45 one Saturday night so we can spread our limbs in a queen sized bed and watch junk cable TV in the morning. I beg Husband to take me to Movies in the Park, brunch at Big Jones, the local park for a game of Frisbee.
Money is good, okay, so so so easy to handle now. Husband got his hearing aids AND glasses! Student loans and credit card payments went down down down. One is almost gone. We did have to pay for a couple months of daycare (which we did out of the goodness of our hearts) and it was $90/week and we DID IT! And no one had to get a second job. It was fishes and loaves, people. It just worked out.
And in those moments, I can breathe. We have no money saved for Montana, but Stepson was kept busy over the summer, Husband can finally see/hear, and we have passes to our happy place again (we spent five hours there on Labor Day).
And so it goes. I play Josh Groban at work like it’s my lifeline (some days, it is), and hum it to the babies and sometimes break out in song (“Please don’t keep your love hidden away”). I lay down on the ground and watch four or more babies crawl all over me because they can’t get close enough or enough kisses and snuggles. I talk to parents about their weekends and their good babies and how being non restrictive means everyone in class is on the move before seven months. I get rides on occasion from my co-worker and we laugh til we cry on the way home over things we forget later.
I work hard at it, but lately the negative is there, breaking my soul and crushing my hope. I think it’s a phase, but maybe it’s simply a driving force to get me out of this place and somewhere better, somewhere I belong.