I've started and stopped writing this about half a dozen times over the past couple of weeks and even now, I am still not sure I should blog about this. Not because this is anything particularly controversial--it's probably not going to kick up any unwanted dust by my otherwise lightly treading moccasins--it's just that I am beginning to detect a slightly unsettling (is alarming too strong a word? probably) pattern, which I suspect will steer what few readers I have to other greener, funnier, more optimistic pastures. Traitors.
January was a rough month. Yeah, yeah, I realize that's what I said about December too so I'm either bad at dealing with stress or perpetually crying wolf about the hard knocks of my life but any way you slice it--well, any way that I slice it--it was. It really really was.
But before you add another tally to bratty comments I've heard Wendy make this year--because why wouldn't you keep track?--know that I am fully aware of how good I have it. Comparatively, my life's a piece of cake. I work one job with good benefits, job security, and decent pay, instead of working multiple jobs that have none of those things. I have an incredible support system of family and friends, instead of having to support myself (or a family) all on my own. I have a great apartment with lowish rent, stylish glasses (and disposable contacts for the non-lazy days, otherwise known as never), a working car, access to trashy t.v., a moderately functioning heater that only rattles sometimes for those cold SoCal winter nights where the temperature dips below 50, leisure time enough to exercise, cook, ride my bike, and maybe even write if the mood strikes me.
I know. I know. I know.
It's what makes the funk I'm in all the more ludicrous/lame/narcissistic/almost as unsympathetic as Justin Beaver (because I will never refer to him by his actual name).
And yet, here I am still typing this.
It's just that I am tired of feeling exhausted and stressed all the time. It wears on you. It makes you break out even though you are almost thirty and thought you were mostly done with that shit. It makes you watch things like Lizzie Borden Took an Ax: The Lifetime Original Movie. It makes you order take out just one more night even though you went over budget on groceries this month and it will mean having to toss out that kale. It would make you worse at house work, if you weren't so bad at it to begin with. It makes you fantasize about being skinnier, better, more productive, and doing literally anything else with your life where you have just the slightest chance of feeling more satisfied and fulfilled at the end of the day, even if it were for only 50% of the time, instead of powerlessly watching your to-do list grow steadily more and more impossible: five more items added for every two you take away.
I don't know, maybe I am being melodramatic or pessimistic because hello, have we met? But honestly, for once, I don't think I am; I'm burnt out. Maybe someday, I will have a job that doesn't require all of me. Of course, I give all of myself to whatever I do, so maybe I'm the real problem.
I've been rehearsing caring less, putting in less effort, putting myself and my health and happiness first and I am successful at that sometimes. It certainly makes things easier. You would think that after over decade of caring too much in the workplace I would know that. But just call me...ha, I almost typed, just call me "Al"...but really, just call me Dory, because this little fishy's memory seems to reset about every five minutes.
So you know how when defining harassment in the workplace (I know, where am I going with this, but just hunker down for the ride and stop asking questions), they say the act must be deemed as offensive by a "reasonable" person. I get that. Nobody wants a Milton Waddams howling harassment after you accidentally nudge his stapler with your elbow. But what I wish someone would explain to me is what a "reasonable" person would define as reasonable when it comes to work ethic. At what point does dedicated and competent end and crazycakes levels of overachieving begin? A colorful venn diagram detailing this distinction would much appreciated.
Ugh, I am sorry I am making you read this and I am sorry if your life is actually challenging in ways that I couldn't even imagine (i.e. you have real struggles and/or children). Like I said, I have no delusions about how lovely my life is; it's just that sometimes...well, let's just say that January was a long month and there seems to be no shortage of long months in my future, if you know what I mean...but how could you when that makes no sense?
Anyways, I just needed grumble and send those grumbles into the ether because the internet cares so so deeply, I am sure. Perhaps it would if I were to fashion the sentiments of this post into a gif.
Scratch that, I thought I knew how to create gifs but apparently I don't. So much for comedy gold...