This Little Piggy Doesn't Know What to Do.
Working at B-Dubs entails working until at least midnight most nights, if not closer to one or two in the morning. As such, my body has adjusted to such a schedule, and I usually can't fall asleep before at least three, four, or sometimes even five in the morning. As such, I've been sleeping at the Zone the night before new books arrive, to ensure that I am there by our 8:30 call time. As I was driving in about half an hour ago, I had to fight the incredibly strong desire to just get on the highway and drive wherever the exits I chose took me, until I ran out of gas and money to buy more.
I've had this feeling before. I don't think it's part of this little itch I get when I'm doing the same thing I was the year before. I think my brain was telling me that something drastic needs to change in my life.
Working at the comic shop has become something of a physical and emotional drain on me. I get five hours of sleep the night before (if I'm lucky). I have to deal with what has gone from what felt like brotherhood with my boss to restraining myself every week from throwing something across the room and telling him to shove this job up his ass. What started as good-hearted jabs seem like they've become attempts to see just how far he can push me. Aside from this, I apparently can never complete a job to his satisfaction, no matter how hard I try. As I pulled into a parking space behind the shop not too long ago, I had to sit and close my eyes until I could will myself to get out of the car and go in, because I know I'll be in these four walls for the next twelve to fourteen hours straight, with my only hope of a break coming when I take stuff the post office to ship. I'm pretty sure having to literally force yourself out of your car to go in to your job is one of the signs that it is no longer a good place for you.
My other (read: paying) job is fine. I enjoy it for the most part. Only one other cook makes me want to bounce faces off of fryers. Servers are another thing entirely, but that's really to be expected, and I can only hope I wasn't half as bad as most of the fuckwits taking orders there. It pays well enough, but I can hear this voice in my head telling me that hourly wages are not going to get me the life I want.
I'm seriously considering the military again, as in going into the recruiter's office on my next off day, doing whatever they need me to do, and signing the paperwork right there. I've told my mom and dad that it's crossed my mind again, so hopefully that wouldn't be too much a shock to them, but what about everyone else? I feel like my manager at B-Dubs depends on me to work, my roommate depends on me for rent, my mom depends on me for my car payment that she was loving enough to help me with, and I even feel like my boss at the comic shop depends on me, much as I seem to disappoint him these days. Part of my brain says joining up would be tantamount to running away from my problems yet again. Like the title said, I just don't know what to do.
I don't know if anyone even reads this anymore. In all honesty, it's probably better if no one does, since I'll probably feel like an idiot for all this self-pity wallowing tomorrow, but it's also nice to know your words are being heard by someone. Anyone, really.
I've had this feeling before. I don't think it's part of this little itch I get when I'm doing the same thing I was the year before. I think my brain was telling me that something drastic needs to change in my life.
Working at the comic shop has become something of a physical and emotional drain on me. I get five hours of sleep the night before (if I'm lucky). I have to deal with what has gone from what felt like brotherhood with my boss to restraining myself every week from throwing something across the room and telling him to shove this job up his ass. What started as good-hearted jabs seem like they've become attempts to see just how far he can push me. Aside from this, I apparently can never complete a job to his satisfaction, no matter how hard I try. As I pulled into a parking space behind the shop not too long ago, I had to sit and close my eyes until I could will myself to get out of the car and go in, because I know I'll be in these four walls for the next twelve to fourteen hours straight, with my only hope of a break coming when I take stuff the post office to ship. I'm pretty sure having to literally force yourself out of your car to go in to your job is one of the signs that it is no longer a good place for you.
My other (read: paying) job is fine. I enjoy it for the most part. Only one other cook makes me want to bounce faces off of fryers. Servers are another thing entirely, but that's really to be expected, and I can only hope I wasn't half as bad as most of the fuckwits taking orders there. It pays well enough, but I can hear this voice in my head telling me that hourly wages are not going to get me the life I want.
I'm seriously considering the military again, as in going into the recruiter's office on my next off day, doing whatever they need me to do, and signing the paperwork right there. I've told my mom and dad that it's crossed my mind again, so hopefully that wouldn't be too much a shock to them, but what about everyone else? I feel like my manager at B-Dubs depends on me to work, my roommate depends on me for rent, my mom depends on me for my car payment that she was loving enough to help me with, and I even feel like my boss at the comic shop depends on me, much as I seem to disappoint him these days. Part of my brain says joining up would be tantamount to running away from my problems yet again. Like the title said, I just don't know what to do.
I don't know if anyone even reads this anymore. In all honesty, it's probably better if no one does, since I'll probably feel like an idiot for all this self-pity wallowing tomorrow, but it's also nice to know your words are being heard by someone. Anyone, really.