Periodically, I ask myself, "Why is life so hard?"
I know that's a pathetic question when my life really isn't all that horrible in comparison to many others. But I always hated when teachers graded on a curve. Why should I compare myself to others? I'm entitled to my feelings from time to time, right? Just because there are horrible things like famine and flooding and devastation doesn't mean that I can't just be really, really frustrated and want to kick somebody because I've had a bad day. Or a bad week. Or a bad month. Or a bad few years.
I just want to vent for a few minutes. I don't like to do this, but sometimes I have to.
It feels like most of the people in my realm of existence are out to get me. Like, no matter how much good I've done, it's not enough. No matter how hard I've worked, I didn't do a good enough job. No matter what I plan, it falls apart. No matter how much I pay towards eliminating debt, something else comes up that has to be paid for. No matter how stressful a day has been, there's plenty more waiting for me the next day.
I am physically and emotionally tired. I just want to take a break. I want a Sabbatical. A nice, long, month or two of rest. I feel like I deserve it, you know? I've worked since I was thirteen years old: babysitting, doing yardwork, fast food, office jobs, cleaning houses, coffee shop, teaching high school, teaching college, warehouse. I've taken one single unemployment check my entire life, and it was only because I was working a contract job that specifically directed us to take the check for the month we were out of the contract before the next one started up.
I told my husband today that I'm going to write a musical about our job and use the music of Queen. The customer's song would be, "I want it all... I want it all... I want it all... and I want it now." And, in the end, our song would be We are the Champions: "I've paid my dues time after time. I've done my sentence, but committed no crime. And bad mistakes, I've made a few. I've had my share of sand kicked in my face, but I've come through." That's what it feels like every day of my life. I had someone tell me this week that I was just a little too intelligent to be working at a coffee shop. That sentence was wrong on so many levels, I can't even begin to describe it! First off, are you assuming that people that work at a coffee shop aren't intelligent? And secondly, that being what your argument is predicated upon, you deem me only a LITTLE too intelligent to be working there? And I could go on and on. The condescension I put up with in one day working there is more than I've dealt with the rest of my life, and that's saying a lot. Any shred of optimism for humanity I had in the past has slowly withered over the last five years. Now I just fake a smile, close my eyes and shake my head as I walk away.
Sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep is what I need. It heals so many wounds.