... I'm tired all the time, easily agitated, and jealous of the people I see who get to stand around and talk while I regularly end up doing the work of three people in one eight hour shift. And what really stings it all is that I know that it doesn't matter how hard I work because the work is just going to be there when I come back because there's no one else that can do it but me.
At least Lance thanks me. At least Lance will come to be at the end of the day and tell me that he really appreciates the hard work and thanks me for helping him out. But that's not paying the bills and that's not helping me when I arrive tired and sore and too tired and grumpy to play with my daughters when I get home.
Well, it took almost six years but CONDRADULATIONS bookstore job. You've finally succeeded in breaking my spirits. I am, for lack of a better work, burned the fuck out. And tonight, after a day that is, if the pattern holds steady, will require me to once again work above and beyond my measely paycheck, Gwen will be coming over and, if there IS a god, I will get drunk.
That is what I look forward to, that and Isabela's smile and late at night when I read Emerald a good night story. Those are my real joys, my real good work, the stuff I SHOULD be taking seriously instead of other things. I need to get my priorities straight. I need to get my head together.
What I really need right now, apart from beers and sex, are a few less tears and a few more fucking laughs ...