It’s difficult to write a blog post when you’re depressed. Everything you write sounds awful, and whiny, and like something no one in their right mind would be particularly interested in reading. Not that this has stopped me before, but still I have this conviction that no one really wants to hear the bad stuff. Sometimes your close family and friends can be convinced to hear you out, but even they have their limits. Casual internet acquaintances? Not so much, unless it’s the truly horrible stuff which has the fascination of real life drama. For evidence I offer my exploding number of readers during and after my brother’s death, most of whom went away again while I struggled through the more tedious grieving process. Reading me wittering on about how my dream job has turned into one of those nightmares in which no matter how fast you run or how hard you work, it will never, ever be enough, and real people you care about are getting really hurt because you are inadequate/couldn’t get to them in time doesn’t really qualify. Hence my lack of posting.
I am hoping that my current bleak outlook is mostly dread in anticipating how things are going to be. I haven’t assumed the double duties yet. My counterpart’s last day was Friday (we had a big farewell dinner for her Friday evening), and I start doing both jobs on Monday. There is a possibility that as I plunge into things, and work out systems, and figure out ways of making things work, that I will find that I can, after all, manage. Or perhaps I will find that no, I genuinely can’t, and will have to suck it up and find the humility to ask for help. I am told that if I need it, help will be there. Part of my difficulty is that I don’t really believe it. I think the people telling me this mean well, but they’re pushed about as far as they can go as it is. There isn’t really any extra slack to give to me.
In the meantime, everyone is stretched and tense and unhappy at work, in part because I am stretched and tense and unhappy. Small things that would have been easily glossed over in happier times suddenly start requiring sharp words and hurt feelings. I’ve gotten yelled at three times in the last week, twice for things I had nothing to do with whatsoever, and once for something that really was my fault, just not in the way the person yelling at me thought it was. Every time I go off for training on aspects of the additional duties I’m going to assume, I return more depressed and discouraged. It’s just awesome all the way around.
At the same time, I’ve realized that right now I don’t have a lot of the other outlets that would normally help balance this dismal work situation. I haven’t been dancing since I sprained my ankle the second time. All the cumulative leg injuries have meant that my leg is taking a long time to heal, and is much weaker than it used to be. Plus now I’m paranoid, so every time something in the muscle or ankle is sore or twinges, I freak out a little inside. So I think I’m being much more careful than I really ought to be. I’m working on getting over that. I know that at this point, what I really need to do is exercise and build the muscle back up. I just have to get over my fear.
There hasn’t been a whole lot of really fun stuff otherwise. There have been some nice things – last weekend I had another tv marathon with Pippi (which included more fun with her ridiculously friendly bird, and running into Batman at the grocery store – no, really), and the weekend before that I got to hang out with Sae and Sweet Pea some. Those things are nice, but they’re not the kind of fun that can help you forget how much things really suck in another area of your life.
But things are looking up. This weekend Rosie & Johnnycakes are throwing a party that has all the ear-markers of Epic Fun. Rosie has been motivated by this approaching party to actually finish the work on the living room, so I have hope that soon we won’t be living in a construction zone anymore. And, well, you never know. Maybe something else good will come along. I just have to hang on until it does.