Wednesday, 8 January 2014

Pushing through the week, or somebody give me some sympathy already.

This is a total stream of consciousness post. Partly because I just want to type it all out to feel better and partly because I don't have time for any editing this morning.


Working so much is what I wish for when I'm not working so much.

Now that I'm in the beginning of the middle of 2 weeks full of nearly 12 hour days I am wondering if I was right. I'll be glad for it in the end because money, obviously, but right now? UGH and I still have to do this until next Wednesday.

My problem is that I feel like I'm doing all this work and nobody really knows it.

Consider the man on the oil rigs. Or the woman. Just a person. Fuck. Whatever. Anyway when they tell you they're working 2 weeks straight with one day off in the middle and it's ten to twelve hour days you feel bad for them in a way, right? Or at least you appreciate the effort they must be putting in. And I'm sure there's a culture of acknowledgement, like "hey, you're doing it, just five days to go!" *pat on back*

With me I am on the go, three or four hours a day on some bus or another, and I'm only at one of the jobs or the other for like five hours at a time. So everybody in my life doesn't see the twelve hour day. They see me leave early, or they see me tired after only a few hours, or they see me gobbling my lunch down like some mad demon as soon as I arrive at 2pm.

At home my family sees me getting home late, starving and tired, and then going to bed at 8pm. They see me not doing the dishes and they see my laundry basket getting full. I'm gone before their first alarm rings in the morning.

So rather than doing well with two groups of people (family and one job) I seem lazy and distant to three groups of people. Or at least that's how I feel this morning.

The bookstore job is hard work. It's easy-ish, technically speaking, but it's rush at the college again, meaning line-ups of people buying textbooks. Line-ups that NEVER end. Literally a five hour shift at a cash register, helping people as efficiently as I possibly can alongside three other coworkers doing the same, and the people just keep coming. It must be thousands a day, because I started trying to time myself. Every five minutes I'd help somewhere around three or four people.

Let's say it's three people in five minutes. Times that by 57 (because there are 60 five-minute periods in a five hour shift, minus a fifteen minute break) and in five hours I've greeted 171 people, scanned 171 people's armloads of books, answered at least 171 questions, taken 171 payments of various types, told 171 people about our return policy, asked 171 people if they need a bag. You get the picture. It doesn't seem like that big a number until you are there doing it. It is crazy.

It's raining again and my feet ache, I'm so worried my feet aren't going to make it to Wednesday. I've got a supply of ibuprofen in my pocket at all times. I also carry a Tylenol 3 in case something hurts really bad and I have to get home. Be prepared.

In my bag I have a hat, an extra sweater, a water bottle, my book store uniform shirt, enough snacks for like three days, a good book, an iPod filled with music and podcasts, a pen and some paper, my wallet, my day planner, keys and a bus pass.

Tank the dog is always up in my grill when I'm home, I feel terrible that I can't spend more time with that big cuddly bear right now, he seems like he needs it.I have no idea if anybody's been walking him or petting him or anything. I assume so but usually I'm the main dog director so it feels weird not to have any idea, just hope he's being taken care of and given love.




At least I'm making enough money to get me through the next couple months of cut hours. And I feel like I'm getting more exercise than I have in a really long time too, which is great because over Christmas I probably gained ten pounds of pure Baileys, chocolate and beer weight.

And I have to be honest with myself, I feel productive, which is much preferable than the alternative.

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