Friday was perhaps the most painful month end I’ve been through in a dozen years in this line of work. I arrived in the office at 7:20AM and left shortly after 12:30AM. With a truncated lunch break, that’s a hair over sixteen hours. It was unpleasant for a number of reasons. Physically painful, of course; hours and hours and sitting and repetitive typing and clicking. Mentally painful because the work is tedious, and some of it was damn near impossible to get through for lack of completeness of the files. I don’t want to think about the mistakes I probably made, and I’m usually pretty damn accurate. But if you make me guess, I will most likely fuck it up because I’m not an underwriter. I don’t know the formulae for determining all the various codes. Whatever. It’s all done, and I don’t have to think about any of that shit again until the 11th. Doesn’t mean I won’t think about it between now and then, but the point is the necessity of it.
I spent yesterday out of the house as much as possible after a surprisingly good night’s sleep. I guess physical exhaustion plus mental exhaustion plus trazodone equals sleep. Works for me. And most of my thinking about work is now geared towards change. It’s a hard line of thought for me, but it’s become terrifyingly obvious that this isn’t good for me. Now that hubby is employed again, the pros and cons of moving on are equal. I guess the biggest part now is that the work I do doesn’t engage me intellectually. I don’t have the self confidence to declare myself any level of smart, but I pay attention and I think. Add my creativity and curiosity to that and imagine how it feels to be a drone with the mind of something more. It fucking hurts.
I’ve never been good at long term goals. I’m not even good at short term goals. A dozen years ago, the only goal was making enough money to afford shelter and food. I have the basics well in hand. I’ve been a responsible adult since I legally became an adult. Isn’t it time for me to do things for myself instead?