So I don't work Mondays anymore. Pretty clever huh? I say I hate Mondays and that they are to blame for suicides and car accidents and my general malaise associated with working at all...and now I don't work Mondays.
I thought it would be a perk, something that would make the revulsion of working another shit eating job less dizzying (would you like a cappuccino with your pile of feces?). But no. But never.
Even without working Mondays I am a bundle of nerves. I am consummed with worry about small, ridiculous, inconsequential things. "Will I have time to do the laundry today?" can be a make or break the day question. What I want to do is crawl back into bed pull the covers up tight and shut everything out. Hard to do when you live with someone. They do that pesky expecting stuff from you thing. Like expecting you to not rip their head off and cry when they ask you a question.
I am worried about money. All the time. And I see money walk in and out of the salon every day. Big money with teeth. Privileged people who spend their lives shopping and getting their hair and nails done. I am envious and angry around these people. Most of them treat me like I am a dirty servant. And maybe I am. Maybe this is my lot.
Getting out of bed is a start I guess.
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I fear unfulfilled intentions. You end up with expectations and the prospect of failure. Then you die before anything happens, good or bad. You don't get to look forward to anything once you're gone. I was depressed so overtly once that I refer to it as the months of blackness. I had to make up things that would make me happy in order to get out of bed in the morning. For me it was my cat, it sounds like a joke but it's not. I still get afraid of being that depressed again and never coming out of the hole, of never experiencing much happiness again. I even fear it happening to other people, I can't stand it. I wish you all the best.
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