Treaded

 The job hunt continues. Perhaps I am being a bit picky, but honestly, I am tired of "settling" for jobs because they PROMISE to pay more, get me more hours, etc, all that never materializes, or, if it does, it’s in a way that makes me want to slit my wrists. (e.g. "hey let’s get up at bar close and go clean some shit" FUUUUCK).

Between this crazy schedule, I drink a lot of Caramel Apple Spices, appreciate the way golden-wheat looks against an angry gray sky with an underscore of too-green grass, catch an hour of sleep whenever I can, and submit to the tedious ideas my siblings present for the holiday season. I have rediscovered newer seasons of The Office on Netflix and more flaky supervisors and why does everyone want to talk to me when I don’t want to talk to them, and yet, when I am in the mood to do something, no one is free? Haha that made me sound like a selfish bag of douche.

Friday night I had feelings, probably because I spent most of this weekend "alone" … and I was trying to suck them back inside and stopped for coffee creamer at Walgreens and ran into an ex and then my whole body went numb with recognition, but I let it go fairly quickly because it doesn’t affect my life the way it used to, but then with the effort to choke down my feelings I cried a little, but it wasn’t soul-wrenching, it was just pitiful, because I think I may have cried myself out within the first five months of 2013.

I don’t feel anything anymore, I think it’s because I started this new job in May and it owns me, more than the restaurant did, and all of my energy goes to it and I force myself to wear a mask of indifference and agitation, and so then it never slips out, but then there’s something that jars my heart, an explosive contact, and I feel it but then again I don’t really. It’s the littlest contact, sort of like if you pressed your finger to flame; it burns for a second, but then it just kind of goes away, because the burning sensation didn’t have enough time to penetrate your layers of skin.

My skin is not even made of layers, I’m convinced, it’s just one solid layer of steel, and occasionally a barb finds its way into a chink, but that’s pretty much it.

I want to move so bad, it’s hard to write coherently, to truly feel anything in this situation, everyone keeps trying to talk me out of it, "it’s financially smarter to stay", like I give a fuck, I just want my livelihood back, and it’s slowly being crushed with every minute in this oppressive condition.

I need more music, and I miss driving to work by myself, Lisa and I carpool, so I’m even missing that now. I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, i’m really not, I am grateful for everything, but everything is "mediocre" and "settling" and I just want to do something that matters, you know? Something that truly matters, something that maybe makes my eyes sparkle.
 

I just…maybe I’m just restless, I don’t know, I’m tired of sitting at home. Tired of it.
No one is understanding, either. I feel like I listen for hours and offer sympathy, and I am not repaid in kind, instead I get some flippant remark and five seconds consideration and then am brushed under the rug.

Friday I crawled out from under the rug and yelled at my supervisor. Don’t tread on me. Fucker.

Love

Amanda