Coping with a Camera
A week ago I worked a double: 6am to 6pm with only an hour’s break for lunch (and/or napping) in between.
I know this is a thing that many people do, all the time, no big deal. But for me, working so much takes an instant toll. Knowing myself better means recognizing that if I spend too much of my time giving it up for the man, then I will hate myself, and life, and everyone’s stupid face.
But balancing 3 part-time jobs is tricky, and I found myself staring down a long, hard day in the cold, grey heart of winter. Kind of a bummer.
Except that…I’m trying to complain less. To be more grateful. To deal, and to remember that this, too, shall pass. Which is why I turned a bummer of a day into a self-assigned photo journal project. Hurrah for me, and even if I’m the only one cheering, it’s good to be cheerful. Here you go:
Do I drink too much? Very well then, I drink too much. I am large, I contain multitudes of reasons for drinking.
Tuesday. I love that the liquor store is still open when I get off work. (All the way ’til 7pm! Way to be, Utah!). I like feeling grown-up for buying Bulleit instead of Jack Daniel’s. I like cradling my brown paper wrapped bourbon in the crook of my arm like a baby on the walk home walk home. I like putting on my PJs as soon as I get home and drinking bourbon with water. I love a long bath with a stiff drink to keep me company and Tibetan take-out. I love closing the blinds, pushing back all the furniture and turning up my sweet new speakers for maximum danceability.
I don’t like working from 6am to 6pm with an hour-and-a-half lunch break that I use to run errands and bike home, where I arrive sweating and immediately begin to dread returning to work.
I don’t like puking in my mouth a little bit on the way to Second Job, because I have stress-induced acid reflux and spit up like a damned baby. Because I ate too fast and then drank water (breaking all the reflux rules!), and because I have developed a Pavlovian response to Second Job that causes stomach cramping and increased bile.
I don’t like feeling that my boss could not be happier to see me go, or rid of me soon enough.
I don’t like crying on desk, having to dry my eyes with tissues and pretend it’s allergies (in November? Really?). Because I’m never sure that I’ve made the right decision. Because breaking up is hard to do, after 5 long years of service. Because I just want a familiar face, a friend, a warm tight hug…but instead there are children screaming and crying, and it pierces my thin skin, and it grates my nerves, and it doesn’t stop.
I don’t like that at all, Friends.
But I do like drinking. And the liquor store is still open.
I work every Saturday and complain almost as often about the fact that I only have three days off per month. Friends will comment covetously of my Tuesday and Thursday mornings spent baking, running errands, cleaning house, listening to music…and I’ll just as quickly ask them what it’s like to have TWO DAYS OFF IN A ROW EVERY SINGLE WEEK.
(Perry Says it’s like having a mini vacation. Huh.)