it’s starting. now we start with gaps in my blog. i didn’t write one yesterday (though i wanted to) because i left work early and when i go home i don’t want to be in front of the computer anymore. yes; i do spend work time writing this and right now i’m seeing floaters and my left hand was a little numb earlier so i think i’m due for a migraine. that means i’m going to stay late today (though i am at a real risk of a migraine, i can feel it) because i didn’t stay yesterday just because i was in a fucked up mood. now that i’m really sick…well. that’ll teach me.
i’m upset with myself for leaving early. it was a pussy thing to do. i could (should) have toughed it out and worked the extra four hours to get a full day (because i’m hourly, you know) but i was too pissed. this is the third week for my second part time job and i still don’t have my own work station. i’m not talking about my own office with a phone and special trash can. i’m saying i’m having to jump from computer to computer depending on who is out. my files are getting fucked up and depending on where i land, on any given day, the programs that are available to me change versions or are simply nonexistent. my boss was out and when he stepped in i just said i was sick and going home.
i could have toughed it out but i didn’t. and the way i add it up is that i just spent sixty four dollars. i guess it was worth it; i did have fun. i was able to be home before the sun set and enjoy most of the day under the influence (of what? you may ask. well i’m not telling you. does it matter? i’m functional. rational. healthy. does it matter if i was drunk, high or hallucinating?). i think it was sixty four dollars well spent. and i try not to worry about the money i lost, but rather the time i gained. in doing this i begin to hate work. both this new job and the old one.
i work the “old job” monday and tuesday and then this “new job” the rest of the week. it doesn’t matter what i do. i work in cold warehouse-like environments contributing nothing to anyone. i work to contribute money to myself. is there any other reason? my old job is barely bearable (they’re coming to take me away haha!). this new job gives me headaches. and i begin to wish i could be an artist or a writer or …shit, anyone who doesn’t have to go by the clock every week day. i chalk it up to the fact that i’m not creative enough. motivated enough. smart enough. but i don’t know what it really is. is there even anything else that it could be?
it’s just the general (and normal) feelings of inadequacy and bitterness. it’s just my envious eyes poisoning my brain. it’s just the world that broke my heart. but here i am. walking around. looking for jobs. being a good consumer. going through the motions as if my heart weren’t broken. as if all these realities that crushed it to begin with somehow were really only cracks and that i might still have a heart to break.
foolishness. all of it.
