This week has been trying, to say the least. Seems that no matter what I do to try to stay happy and optimistic, something happens to try to push me back down. And Lord knows I’m trying to keep smiling. I just don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold on.
I applied for another Communications Specialist position, only to be told I’m “talented” but not talented enough. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. To hear the “people that matter” talk, I’m a crappy secretary. Because “doing your job” is not good enough at Nationwide. The decision-makers don’t believe I’m good enough to do what I LONG to do, so where does that leave me? I feel worthless, stupid, and like my life (in the career sense) is a waste. Will I ever be good for anything?
My car. Of course, the guy glanced at it and said “I can’t repair this. I have to replace it. It’s going to cost you $324.00.” So much for debt reduction. Seems I can’t ever get ahead.
I had a coupon for 5 free pieces of cardstock at Archivers last night. I’d picked out cool colors. Then I lost the coupon. Someone got MY free cardstock. Such a little thing, and it’s not like I don’t have 3489572985789 pieces of cardstock already, AND it wasn’t Bazzil, so I shouldn’t be this down about it. But I am.
There are lots of little things adding up and really starting to weigh on me. Being stuck behind drivers who smoke in traffic. Freezing because if I turn on the heater, all of their smoke will get sucked into my car and I have to smell the stench. Freezing at work. Sitting across a guy I knew from college who thinks it’s fun to laugh at me because he’s still pissed at me for something that happened over 10 years ago. I tell myself I don’t care about this stuff, but apparently I do.
I worry about everything. I want to think that I don’t care what people think of me, but that’s such bull. I do care. I walk away from every encounter wondering if I did something to piss someone off. I always wonder if I’m behaving in a way to evoke suspicion as to the real parts of me that I keep hidden from the majority of the world. I read cryptic messages and wonder if they are about me, and I analyse every action, every syllable to see if *I* did something to make someone write those kinds of things. Yes, just a little bit egocentric. I beat myself up for having done hurtful and stupid things to people years and years ago. What good does the self-beration do now? Logically, I know this! Yet, my heart won’t follow my brain.
My coworker Susan is going through this body detox program. She is on a strict diet and takes lots of vitamins and minerals and drink lots of water. She’s only been on it a few days and she says she feels great already. I wonder if there are similar programs for our brains. A detoxifier to clear out all the guilt and the pain and the shame and the hurt and the evil and the thoughts and all the immorality. I try to give it all to God…but I’m not so talented at letting go.
Today, my boss is out of the office. His sister-in-law is seriously ill. She’s only 30 and has a 10 month old. She may die, and she’s only 30. That’s how old I’m going to be in December. If I died at 30, would I even be missed? Did I even do anything worthy? Did my life glorify God? They’d wonder why was I so hesistant to take risks and follow my dreams?. People would read my journals and hate me. They’d hate what I hide from them. They’d hate my secrets. My memory would not be revered by some.
Perhaps I should burn the journals.
I’m trying to focus on the good things. I have a job. I can still drive my car. Kelly S (itskels) and I have been emailing and that’s been going great. (I know a lot of Kellys) I’m going to Las Vegas next week. I have friends out the wazoo. And how can I forget how amazing Tuesday night was for me?
I have so many dreams. So many. Sometimes, I feel like I am more special than the life I’m living. Does that make sense? Like, I can’t just accept that I’m meant to be a normal, typical, suburban person. I want more. I need more. I did my personality inventory the other night, and I got “Artisan Performer.” I can’t remember the intitials. But it’s true. I long to be more than I am. And there are times I feel I can make it. That I WILL be a bestselling author. But then reality hits. And I get overwhelmed at the whole process, and I’m think to myself “there is no way I can do this.” Oh, but I want it to badly!
I don’t like feeling like this. I’m trying to cheer myself up. I’m listening to “empowering” music. But none of it is speaking to me. How will I get out of this funk?
I know that I’m better off not having that job. It’s in Nationwide Financial, and I hated working for them. But it would have been writing. WRITING. I need to find writing jobs. Ones that pay. I get the emails with the markets and what they pay, and I file them away, thinking “someday.” Someday needs to be soon. As in before the end of 2004 soon.
I’m really trying to believe there is something else, something better for me. Something more suited to my skills and passions. Something that will continuously WOW my bosses. Or perhaps, I can be my own boss someday. I just think writing is my only way out, and so I have to crank it out.
Alright. I have stuff to do, and I might do some mindless surveys. Later….