as i started typing this
As I started typing this post, the one thought that has been swimming around my mind today showed no signs of disappearing.
Is it possible that my job, the one I'd claimed to love in the past, is actually slowly ruining my life right now?
Talk about a ball hitting you back squarely in the face after you'd thrown it. What is this? Am I not being thankful? I'm one lucky bitch, getting home and landing such a great job (getting promoted two times in a year, say whaaat?) after only two months of being a couch potato. As my ex would say, I think I deserve a slap in the face for that. It's really hard to get a job these days, let alone a great one with all the glamor and pizazz that it offers.
What started all this, you ask? Hmmm. To be technically correct, it may have started around 3 months ago, when I realized how this job I used to love, which I felt was the perfect outlet to channel my ~writing talents~ (excuse me while I snort in disbelief here), was beginning to bring me down. Endless working hours, less time spent with my family, excuses being thrown everywhere for missing fun times with my friends - only because I absolutely HAD TO finish the bazillion amount of articles due for that month's issue. But even with all that, I carried on. No excuses. I was probably being too exhausted. Besides, I still had passion for what I wrote, and all fatigue seemed to melt away at the sight of the new magazine on my desk.
For today though, it hit me with the force of a thousand bricks. I was up early to work on this damn article (FYI, I've been working the whole weekend, and I've only finished one article out of five), when my dad came in and told me we were to go visit my grandmother. I felt like the biggest jerk in the whole world when I could only look at my dad, without saying anything, but my face clearly conveyed what I was thinking: "But, my work...?" IT'S MY SICK GRANDMOTHER, for God's sake. How could I even think of putting my job before my family, my only living grandmother, the woman who gave birth to my dad, therefore allowing me to exist and live in the first place?
And I was correct, you see... At the sight of my grandmother lying there, not being able to talk, or just react at the sound of our voices... I fucking wanted to cry. And then I saw my dad holding her hand so tight, and hiding his face in it, trying to hold back tears. It makes me feel even worse. You would probably think, it's my own fault for not being able to manage my time so that I could finish my damn articles without interfering with my personal life. Perhaps I'm only being whiny. Not strong enough to carry the weight of being the boss in my team. Perhaps I'm not ready. Well, perhaps.
Except, you probably wouldn't understand anyway, since you're not the one feeling this. I've been overused and working too much for very little appreciation. At first, I thought I could handle it. I probably can't, anymore. It's not that I'm giving up, I'm giving in. I am really looking forward to the day I can finally move onward and upward from all this.
Until then... Let me finish this motherfucka'.
PS: With constant flashes of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named interrupting my train of thoughts. Yes, that is still happening.
Is it possible that my job, the one I'd claimed to love in the past, is actually slowly ruining my life right now?
Talk about a ball hitting you back squarely in the face after you'd thrown it. What is this? Am I not being thankful? I'm one lucky bitch, getting home and landing such a great job (getting promoted two times in a year, say whaaat?) after only two months of being a couch potato. As my ex would say, I think I deserve a slap in the face for that. It's really hard to get a job these days, let alone a great one with all the glamor and pizazz that it offers.
What started all this, you ask? Hmmm. To be technically correct, it may have started around 3 months ago, when I realized how this job I used to love, which I felt was the perfect outlet to channel my ~writing talents~ (excuse me while I snort in disbelief here), was beginning to bring me down. Endless working hours, less time spent with my family, excuses being thrown everywhere for missing fun times with my friends - only because I absolutely HAD TO finish the bazillion amount of articles due for that month's issue. But even with all that, I carried on. No excuses. I was probably being too exhausted. Besides, I still had passion for what I wrote, and all fatigue seemed to melt away at the sight of the new magazine on my desk.
For today though, it hit me with the force of a thousand bricks. I was up early to work on this damn article (FYI, I've been working the whole weekend, and I've only finished one article out of five), when my dad came in and told me we were to go visit my grandmother. I felt like the biggest jerk in the whole world when I could only look at my dad, without saying anything, but my face clearly conveyed what I was thinking: "But, my work...?" IT'S MY SICK GRANDMOTHER, for God's sake. How could I even think of putting my job before my family, my only living grandmother, the woman who gave birth to my dad, therefore allowing me to exist and live in the first place?
And I was correct, you see... At the sight of my grandmother lying there, not being able to talk, or just react at the sound of our voices... I fucking wanted to cry. And then I saw my dad holding her hand so tight, and hiding his face in it, trying to hold back tears. It makes me feel even worse. You would probably think, it's my own fault for not being able to manage my time so that I could finish my damn articles without interfering with my personal life. Perhaps I'm only being whiny. Not strong enough to carry the weight of being the boss in my team. Perhaps I'm not ready. Well, perhaps.
Except, you probably wouldn't understand anyway, since you're not the one feeling this. I've been overused and working too much for very little appreciation. At first, I thought I could handle it. I probably can't, anymore. It's not that I'm giving up, I'm giving in. I am really looking forward to the day I can finally move onward and upward from all this.
Until then... Let me finish this motherfucka'.
PS: With constant flashes of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named interrupting my train of thoughts. Yes, that is still happening.
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