It's depressing to have to wake up at six-thirty in the morning before my daughters and my wife are asleep. I got used to Emerald waking me up to watch cartoons with her. Now I wake up to a shrill computer screech. That depresses me.
It's depressing to be at work. Don't get me wrong. I love my work. You have to love what you do or else you should quit. It;'s that simple. And I love my work. But it breaks my heart to know that while I'm shelving ten v-carts of crap, my wife is at home with our two daughters. I want to be there and take care of them and play with them and watch trhem smile. And I'm at work instead. And every second I'm at work and not with my family it breaks my heart in two.
It's depressing the way my right hand feels. I try to deny it, try to hide it, try to act like it doesn't hurt, doesn't cramp up. But it does. I work so incredibly hard, I work my ass off, and I get paid for my hard work with a right hand that my doctor says is in the beginning stages of carpal tunnel syndrome. I'm hoping that my hand has been in so much pain lately due to the fact that, after my two month family leave, that instead of putting my feet in gradually I just dove in and did my high level of work as if I hadn't been gone for so long. Hopefully that's why it hurts so much. Hopefully.
It's depressing, this stomach problem that I have, the one that makes me scream in pain fifteen minutes after eating anything. Serious stomach problens. There's a word for what I have but I'm too embarassed to call it what it actually is. Let's just call it my stomach problem.
It's depressing to think that my daughter Isabela doesn't know my family at all. Either they're in another state or they're too busy to see her. My parents haven't even seen her out of the Nick-You. And they don't get off because they're in another state, too, because my father was IN TOWN and wasn't able to spend a few seconds to come down and see her. Isabela is constantly surrounded by her mother's family, who can be rude and loud and mean and angry and stoned and crude and very, very white. I hope one day she gets to know my family. But that will probably never happen.
It's depressing to think that I've worked my way into a glass celiegn at my job. I'm too good at what I do. I do it better than anyone else. I'm a sort of legend around the city, even out of the city. I'm literally too good at what I do. So now I'm in a position where I either advance or just continue doing my job forever. And I don't like making that decision. I've shed a lot of tears. I want to be happy with what I do but I also need to provide for my family. It's something I can't comprehend making a decision about but something that I must decide. And soon.
It's depressing to drive home from work. What used to take 30-40 mins. in rush hour traffic now takes 45-115 mins. in rush hour traffic ... and even when I leave 15 mins. early, too. That's a rough drive to do alone with just my thoughts and my music and a depressing sun setting sadly into the earth.
Thatks for listening to my bitching. Here's some free mash ups for you ...