Happy New Year, everyone. I hope your nights were fulfilling, wonderful, exciting (and soaked in a good deal of the spirit of your choice).
I have a confession to make, though:
My night was none of those things. My new year’s eve, 2014, was grumpy, boring and sleepy. I fell asleep at 9:30 “just to take a nap”. My boyfriend tried to wake me up at midnight, and it kind of worked; I blearily woke up, gave him a new years’ kiss that I hardly remember, groused that he almost killed off the bottle of wine without me… and promptly fell back asleep.
That is my dirty little secret. My job leaves me too wiped out and tired to do much of anything beyond sleep like the dead and drink copious amounts of coffee. Happy new year, everyone.
Folks, I need a new job, one that doesn’t do that to me.
I feel like a quitter. I slip into and out of jobs so often, because they never feel right. I am Goldilocks complaining of too hot and too cold. Sometimes I worry that it’s a flaw of character, but then I remember all the beautiful quitters who have gone before me. The artists and the writers and the homesteaders. Everyone tells me that I work so hard, so why do I always feel so damn lazy?
I would almost always rather be writing. Is it a defect that I feel like I have so much more to contribute than as a cog in a very big machine?