On my morning ride, I now count every dog I see. Today was like 19 or 21, I forget. But a lot of them. I try not to run anyone over. At work, I keep my fan on since there is no air circulation, and as a result, I sneeze at regular intervals. I count those, too. I don't know what counting really does for me. Pass time? Distract me? Keeps my brain alive? I hope so.
I know that I complain about this often (especially in real life and over live messaging), but I do not like my job. It's not that I'm miserable and want to harm things (that has happened in previous months, but I'm past that now), but that it's truly Sisyphean in its tasks and expectations. I never feel like I finish or attain anything. I know that I've developed a lot of skills and work experience in this role, but mostly--I think it just kills me, so much. Every day.
I know I have the option to always quit, but I cannot afford to. I hate that that traps me. I am worrying constantly.
I hate that I wake up and feel immediately depressed by the thought of have to trudge to work, where I do work that is generally unappreciated (it is and it isn't), where there is never really any kind of true recognition for how hard we all work. And we're expected to do a lot--far far beyond my original job description. And I do it--gladly--I love being able to facilitate and help others achieve what they need to. I excel at it.
But I hate this. I hate that I'm here 10 hours or so, that things don't change (not for my lack of desperate trying). I hate that by the time I get home it's probably 7 pm or so, and I'm too tired to really do anything. Usually I prepare some dinner simply, then waste away in bed. I read, maybe. For like 4.6 pages.
On the nights I plan to make true dinner, that exhausts even more of my energy (but fulfills me in a great emotional way), but then I'm even more fatigued, and it's late when I get to bed.
I have no time to do anything which is enriching to my personal life. I resent my job for taking that from me. I resent that I have to work so hard to still just be really poor in this city. That I can't really enjoy all the amenities of living in this grand metropolis. This is not my dream. I don't want this.
So I make little goals. Little dreams. Like a weeklong trip to the Bahamas in January. Like trying to return to SF for food ravaging on my Spring Break in March. God knows what I'll be doing in the summer, but I really wanted to do at least a 3 week trip to SE Asia after I "graduate." There is no way I'm attending any kind of official ceremony. Nonsense.
But I don't even know if I can do those other trips--the SF one, the Asia one. I doubt I'll have enough money saved. It's depressing. I feel like I can't stop drowning, and I'm not allowed to die.
Not quite excruciating. Just numbing. Detachment. Disinterest & flounder.
But I try to keep my spirits up. I keep a log of art projects I want to make. I dare to look at things which make me happy and want to obtain. Like this fake watch:
But I can't really buy anything. I can barely buy groceries. I can't even have cooking adventures, really. I can talk to my plants, though.
At least I can ride my bike. That makes me really really blissful. I should be thankful for that.
I think I'm looking forward to school again. Desperately. It's so much better than working soullessly. I'll be even more drained, but at least, I will have something to show for it. My mutant Vulcan forged from its own jail.
I too, want freedom.
