Stuck.
The day I left for CON, Pete took me into the office and offered me a promotion to "shift supervisor" at Galactic. I took it, figuring that a steady paycheck and a reliable schedule would do suit me well. I went to CON feeling all sorts of excited, optimistic, and ever so grown up. Well, I've been having my doubts.
I've been doing this for about six weeks, and I know that I've been adjusting, and transitions are usually a tad on the awkward side, but I'm just not feeling it. I'm really not making that much more money, but the hours add up. However, since I have all these new "responsibilities," I never get out of the kitchen until after the bank is closed. (I don't have an ATM card yet, because it has helped me save money and pay off my debt. I know abstaining from withdrawals would also give me a nice cushion in my account, but dammit all, sometimes I just need ten bucks for bus fare, a pack of smokes, and maybe some toilet paper or laundry soap, or laundry money, for that matter.) I have more chores to perform in the morning, when as a "manager," I would rather focus on getting the kitchen set up and running first and foremost, other than doing extra tasks that Pete used to perform himself in the mornings.
The little frustrations always add up.
I'm sick of leaving work covered in flour. Seriously, flour everywhere. In my hair, in my cuticles, in my sinuses, pockets, and bra. It coats your skin, and flakes off in gross looking chunks. People at the bus stop have asked me if I spent my day sheet rocking, no joke. I get that twice a week.
I'm exhausted by the time I finally clock out. I leave, dirty and tired, and the last thing I want to do is, well, anything. I just want to lounge out and think about how much I don't want to work the next day. I have no time or energy left for friends or other obligations, because all that runs through my head is "Galactic, Galactic, Galactic." I spend my days off thinking about how much work is going to suck when I return. I have almost been fired more times than I can remember, and ditto for how many times I almost quit.
I won't even get into the way Pete talks to me. It's a long story with details I won't divulge in a semi-public forum.
These are never good signs. But I've been there a long time, and as my mom said this afternoon, "Sometimes when you're stuck in shit, you learn to love the smell." And I love my coworkers, which is rare and fun. Anybody I work with in the future will be stupid and boring compared to those guys.
Rodwan from Babani's has been calling me.
They want me back, really bad. They made me a wonderful offer, with real perks, more than just a snazzy title to put on my resume in the future.
Before the promotion, I had plans for the future, like school. Things that would, in theory, help me in the long run. I put my plans on the back burner once again, and so now I have feelings of guilt and failure, even though nothing went through.
I'm frustrated. When I'm frustrated, I clam up and get really useless and inarticulate.
When I sat down at the computer, I had every intention of relating to you all the gory details of what's spinning around in the old brain pan. But now, I just want to read comics.
I've already made my decision.
Now I just have to grow a pair and make it happen.
I've been doing this for about six weeks, and I know that I've been adjusting, and transitions are usually a tad on the awkward side, but I'm just not feeling it. I'm really not making that much more money, but the hours add up. However, since I have all these new "responsibilities," I never get out of the kitchen until after the bank is closed. (I don't have an ATM card yet, because it has helped me save money and pay off my debt. I know abstaining from withdrawals would also give me a nice cushion in my account, but dammit all, sometimes I just need ten bucks for bus fare, a pack of smokes, and maybe some toilet paper or laundry soap, or laundry money, for that matter.) I have more chores to perform in the morning, when as a "manager," I would rather focus on getting the kitchen set up and running first and foremost, other than doing extra tasks that Pete used to perform himself in the mornings.
The little frustrations always add up.
I'm sick of leaving work covered in flour. Seriously, flour everywhere. In my hair, in my cuticles, in my sinuses, pockets, and bra. It coats your skin, and flakes off in gross looking chunks. People at the bus stop have asked me if I spent my day sheet rocking, no joke. I get that twice a week.
I'm exhausted by the time I finally clock out. I leave, dirty and tired, and the last thing I want to do is, well, anything. I just want to lounge out and think about how much I don't want to work the next day. I have no time or energy left for friends or other obligations, because all that runs through my head is "Galactic, Galactic, Galactic." I spend my days off thinking about how much work is going to suck when I return. I have almost been fired more times than I can remember, and ditto for how many times I almost quit.
I won't even get into the way Pete talks to me. It's a long story with details I won't divulge in a semi-public forum.
These are never good signs. But I've been there a long time, and as my mom said this afternoon, "Sometimes when you're stuck in shit, you learn to love the smell." And I love my coworkers, which is rare and fun. Anybody I work with in the future will be stupid and boring compared to those guys.
Rodwan from Babani's has been calling me.
They want me back, really bad. They made me a wonderful offer, with real perks, more than just a snazzy title to put on my resume in the future.
Before the promotion, I had plans for the future, like school. Things that would, in theory, help me in the long run. I put my plans on the back burner once again, and so now I have feelings of guilt and failure, even though nothing went through.
I'm frustrated. When I'm frustrated, I clam up and get really useless and inarticulate.
When I sat down at the computer, I had every intention of relating to you all the gory details of what's spinning around in the old brain pan. But now, I just want to read comics.
I've already made my decision.
Now I just have to grow a pair and make it happen.