I don’t usually remember my dreams, but the last two nights the emotions of them have woke me up and stuck with me. The night before last I had a beautifully lucid dream (at the time). I was with my brother and sister at my mom’s house. It was a treasure hunt of things I loved as a child. Everywhere I looked I found a piece of my childhood: a messy staple of papers filled with my little drawings and stories, a toy or book I loved, a photograph, an eye roll at mom. I remember laughing with my siblings with sentences filled with “remember when…” I woke up missing my siblings. I woke up wanting to remember the exact items I found, knowing they were a piece of puzzle to solve my biggest question of late: What do I want to do with my life?
Last night, or really just moments ago, I woke up from an anxiety dream. I don’t remember any details, just the feelings of running around, never getting enough done, my chest still feels tight. My body, my subconscious, my entire being has taken fistfuls of jabs the last couple of weeks. At first I was strong because I felt I had to be for everyone else. Then I got depressed. Then sick. Now I’m angry, scared and not sleeping well. Part of me feels I have the right to grieve, and other part of me feels like I need to get out of bed, get out of my anxious head, and just go full stream ahead. I’ll snap back and feel more like myself soon, I hope. In the meantime, I hope my dreams provide me a little more direction.
I let it all out today. All the pent-up aggression and anger from the last year. I told her she drove me crazy and I can’t stand the pressure anymore. I told her that while I do my job to the best of my abilities I don’t feel the need to go above and beyond anymore because she told me herself my growth at the organization was stunted and that I haven’t had a raise in over two years. I told her I don’t believe in our new president’s b.s. talks because how can have high morale when not five minutes earlier he told us some of us wouldn’t be there next fiscal year. I told her not to save my job because then I’d have to hear her guilt-filled lectures about what she gave up in her life. “Don’t save me. I can’t deal with the pressure. I’ll be fine if I’m let go.” And honestly, though it would be scary and would suck, I’d get that fcuking monkey off my back. And that monkey, is her.
Once I was really good at really leaving my job when I left the office. I never want my job to be life. I can do a rockin’ kick-a$$ job between the hours of 9 to 5, then it’s my time. I hope to find satisfaction and successfulwithin my job, but I don’t want it to be my life. Is there something wrong with that? In my opinion, no. Can’t you kick a$$ when you’re paid to kick a$$ and then lead a normal life? Not her. She’s a martyr. No one can stand it. No one looks up to her and sees her a model employee–she’s a pain in the a$$. She doesn’t earn more respect that way, she gets taken advantage of because she wants to be seen as a model employee and is willing to take crap and be taken advantage of because of it. I, on the other hand, am not. I don’t get paid enough. I make less than half of what she does and have to take her crap on top of it.
I’m a sensitive soul. So much so I cried at my desk after my outburst. I have no problem owning up to my mistakes and usually apologize for the littlest of things. But today, I feel no need to apologize. I feel no need to take any more manipulative crap from her. She needed to know where I stand. That unlike her, I’m not completely terrified. I will be okay if I lose my job. If it’s meant to be, it will be. I’ll figure it out if and when the time comes, and I’ll be a better person for it.
Okay, so this writing three times a week thing is ambitious. I’m working on it. Here is something I wrote while at work Monday (and ends abruptly).
How do you get over the boredom in your life?
Because I’m terribly bored of writing different versions of the same press releases, e-newsletters, program descriptions what-have-you, I started paying more attention to my real life–my outside of work, personal life. Every since I turned 31 I’ve been on some quest find out what makes me tick. I’ve pushed myself to try new things, and for the most part my self-experiment has worked. A few months ago I started tap dancing class, and I really like it. This Wednesday I start a pottery class. I’m trying new hobbies in the hopes of striking some chord within myself that I wake up one day with an “A Ha! Moment” and instantly know what I want to do with the rest of my life. The only thing I know for sure is this office environment is slowly killing me. The days seem so long, my work so unrewarding, and the fact I have little respect for my nonprofit organization mixed with my menopausal boss sure make waking up in the morning difficult. I don’t even like who I’ve become Monday through Thursday. I’m grumpy and withdrawn and smile the same fake smile and make the same simple pleasantries day after day. Truth be told I don’t know what I want to do anymore day after day. I always wished when I was little I really wanted to be something–sure I had my phases: actress, singer, journalist, radio DJ…but nothing I felt passionate enough about to pursue. After journalism and radio classes in college I knew it wasn’t for me. Maybe I gave up to easily because one teacher said I had a voice for lite FM, and I also could never write a decent lead. But I didn’t have the kind of cravings kids do to be a pilot or a doctor and there was no coercion into running a family business. So finding out what is next is terribly frustrating because I have interests: interior design, writing, culture (high, low-brow, and pop included), crafting–but I don’t know how to make those work for a career or if I want to make those work for a career because I’ll lose something. Like I used to love going to bookstores to get coffee and read magazines and then I spent nights and weekends in my early 20’s working a second job at Border’s and my feelings of hanging out in bookstores forever changed.
I’m to the point in my cold/flu where I feel like I could burst out in the frusturated tears at any moment (which is what I did when I got home from work–I wrote this earlier today). It always comes to this feeling for me. I get tired of my back and upper rib cage muscles aching from coughing, my nose feeling dry and red, of applying lip balm every 20 minutes, of my eyes feel hollowed out, and I just want to be sleeping in bed. I don’t feel like being at work, but felt the need to come in today because the boss is back and I’m not sick enough to be home any more. Unlike many, I worked most of the last couple of weeks, so unlike many, I’m actually caught up on work. Also, at this point a monkey could do my job if said monkey could type emails and communicate to the press. All day my eyes have been drawn to articles on the net with headlines like “5 Antidotes for Job Burnout” or “Where the Jobs Will Be This Decade.” What I’ve learned today is that 49% of Americans are depressed and unhappy at thier jobs. So at least I’m not alone. I’m afraid of turning into one of those bloggers who only turns to writing to bitch and whine. Like the girls I used to like reading– their adventures in dating, friends, work and life, only to discover all they did was complain in a plethora of cutesy ways. Truth is, that may be me some days so suck it.
I can do it. I can make a goal and attempt to stick to it.
I can make goals, it’s just that I promptly break them. Or fcuk them up somehow. Just one cigarette after work. I just did 45 minutes on the elliptical so I can eat chips, guac, and side of burrito.
Though I understand the concept of having goals, I’m not sure I’ve achieved one. (Well, I mean I guess I have achieved some of the social norm goals: I have a master’s degree, I have a job, I have a rented roof over my head, etc.), I just haven’t felt that strong passion where you can push yourself to nth degree just for the sweet taste of victory. Maybe I’m a defeatist. Maybe I’m not ready to quit smoking or lose weight or date. I always fulfill these things in my own time anyway as I have been successful at all three in the past (though not usually all at the same time).
But tonight I want to write about this goal: writing. Though a career as a writer would be awesome, that’s not the–dare I say it–goal–write right now. I just want to write. I have all these thoughts swirling in my head all the time. I have thoughts about current events, pop culture, myself, family, work, books, and I miss writing them down. Playing with words. Attempting different styles and exercises.
So on this eve, eve, of the New Year, I vow I’m going to try to write more. For now the aim is to blog three days a week. Cross your fingers for me ghost reader.
I hoped he didn’t see me walking across the street from one grocery store to the next. I saw him sitting in his car and then making a phone call. I pretended to be looking for traffic down the wrong way of the street so he wouldn’t notice me noticing him. Walking down the main isle I saw him again, we didn’t make eye contact so I thought I was safe to quickly turn down an isle.
I knew it was only going be so long until we ran into each other. I mean he does live across the hall. It’s funny what you do to avoid situations. I did my laundry today because we always tend to do the washing late Sunday afternoons. He gets home from work earlier than me, so I’m safe there. Plus, I’ve been out almost every night this week, trying to keep busy and again avoiding being alone, avoiding dealing with the situation.
I came home and got a message on my cell phone. He saw me. He saw me cross the street, he saw me duck down the isle. He wanted to give me ride home (it’s only 3 blocks). No mention of last week. I know he’ll call again tonight because he can’t stand my not calling him back, but I’ve learned not to say a thing if it takes him 4 days. Lucky I have the girls coming over for wine and nachos.
I’m feeling angry. Angry for what he said to me. Angry that he knows he owes me another apolology. Angry because he blew it. 80% of me is ready for this to be the last time. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too.” And you can’t slap me on the ass anymore like it’s your property and your only move when we’re close to the door at the end of evening and “haven’t got it on” yet. I want to still be in avoidance mode. I’ve been doing good on this mode. I’m angry you’re rising me out of this role. I’ll be angry at myself if I let you back in. I just wish you won’t try.
My parents married on the 4th. I met “The Voice” on the 4th. He and I broke it off on the 4th.
We tell ourselves lies to protect ourselves. Or so we tell ourselves. Or maybe it’s just easier to believe the lies. He admitted something I always knew, in a nut shell, he can’t get over my flaws. He admitted he was shallow, he is an asshole, and he is f*&ked up, but still doesn’t make it right. Yet, he wanted, as always, to keep the door open, but it’s too late. I said as much, “I’m sorry to hear that.” I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be with someone who is embarrassed of me. I feel numb, but I’ve made myself that way today. I haven’t cried today. I haven’t talked to anyone today. I just sat on the couch and watched a marathon of the “Real Housewives of New Jersey.” I felt nothing. I was enthralled in it, yet don’t really have any strong feelings about it. Just women being women, but with money, from Jersey. I don’t want to think about the work week ahead. The secret I have to hide about him because I’m ashamed. I only had one friend who was supportive of me and him anywhere, and that’s because she’s a romantic like myself. I told her what happened before we went to another friends for tacos and margaritas. I had to act happy. I can’t deal with “I told you so’s.” I can’t deal with pity looks. I can’t deal with other people calling him an asshole. Part of me is so hurt. Part of me is just sad. Part of me feels like I just lost one of my really good friends. Part of me knows even though I should be doing something more positive right now than getting numb and drinking red wine I should go for a walk or do yoga. The other part is allowing myself one day to grieve. One day to be numb. One day to be sad. At least I know that even though I am broken right now, I will eventually, and quicker than I think, dust myself off and piece myself back together again.