Coming together, falling apart

Every day I say my little mantras as I drive to work. Thank you, God, for keeping me safe from these Floridian death angels on the road. Thank you, God, for giving me a job to go to. Thank you, God, for the good day I’m about to have or, at least, for the paycheck I’ll get either way. 😉

I don’t have bad days, though. I have days that have parts I’d like to light on fire, but I don’t let one or two (or five) crazy things taint the day.

Today started off with me not really dressing up as I tend to. I felt really blah and I certainly look it. The one thing I asked God for today was, “I know I ask to run into a certain person. Today, I’d be really happy if we didn’t cross paths.”

And God laughed heartily.

I was feeling and looking like hell. And I was exhausted and couldn’t even talk. I explained, “No verbal ability at this hour!” and that was that. He showed me his venti Starbucks and nodded knowingly.

Then I made the mother of all boo-boos on a subject line that was only seen by about a quarter-million people. I let the right people know about it — I put a word in that didn’t belong; it was an easy fix on the Web site but DAMN this was an amateur mistake. GAH.

I’ve been trying to unload one of my freelance gigs. By rights I should unload both, but I feel very insecure right now and like knowing I have the ability to pay rent next month. But the third gig, I’ve been begging for them to replace me. It’s easy work and they pay well enough. But I realized that it’s not work that’s sharpening my skills at all. It’s not adding to my enjoyment of life or giving me a feeling of achievement. Ergo, in this case time is worth more than money.

They finally heeded my pleas to let me go … under the condition that I find my replacement. *headslam* Because I don’t have enough time to DO the work, I have to hire a replacement too?!?!

They love me. They really do. They tell me they can’t replace me, so the next-best thing is me naming a replacement. I don’t have people like that, falling all over me and telling me how fabulous I am. That’s because I’m not DOING anything fabulous. I get a panic attack when I take on an ounce more work — like, hey, I’m prone to fucking up right now … you sure you want to give me that, too?

I think about all of my friends with kids and wonder how they do it — how do you work all day, do other stuff at night, spend time with your family, lose sleep and then get up and do it all again? Toss in all the other worries (financial, vehicular, familial, etc. — and all at once, I might add) and how do you put in a productive eight hours at the place that pays you to be your best?

I can’t be the only one who’s this nuts, right? Other people have managed, yes? This too shall pass and wonderful things will happen when everything starts to “come together.” But how do you keep from falling apart, day after day, in the meantime?

Comments closed.