20 April 2008

At least I have a job. At least I have a job.

If I just keep repeating it to myself, um ... Hmmmm. I don't really know where I was going with that. I'm not sure there is even anywhere to go with it.

Good Lord. All the sitting on the sun-drenched, 70-degree deck and Twins' 10th inning wins in the world can't change the fact that I have to go to work tomorrow. I want to cry. I almost have several times today. The good stuff from the weekend just doesn't seem like enough to make the upcoming work week seem even barely tolerable. Especially since I started the work week today. Fuck.

The stupid thing is, I know I'm overreacting and I cannot stop myself. Guess my pill-induced anxiety is starting a day or two early. It must be because I'm paying $32 for them now. It's hard not to get caught up in the "Oh my God, we're totally going to have a week from hell" stuff rippling through my department at the end of last week. Yeah, there is a lot of stuff to get done, but I really don't think it's nearly as bad as they make it seem.

They all may be fine with working until 7:00 or 8:00 at night, but I have plans on Tuesday and Thursday (and hopefully Friday) and yoga on Wednesday. I've already been taking work home and not taking a lunch. I'm working fucking plenty and I will leave at 5:00. Maybe 5:30 if it's absolutely necessary that I stay.


Honestly. I need to get over myself or something. So I have a shitty job. Big fucking deal.

There's a beer festival on the horizon. In the next two weeks or so, two of my favorite obscure-ish British bands are coming to town. Elbow will be here on April 30. Unfortunately, they are playing the Fine Line, but not even that shitty club can put a damper on my enthusiasm. Guy Garvey has the voice of a fucking angel and seeing that band live is the closest I will ever come to having a religious experience. And I'm just going to try to ignore the fact that The Boy I Currently Like asked "What is this? A Peter Gabriel cover band?" when "Scattered Black and Whites" came up on my iPod the other night.

While I was typing that previous paragraph, I was listening to South. They'll be at the Turf Club a few days after Elbow are here. Say what you will about MySpace, but if it wasn't for the message the band sent me through MySpace, I might have missed that show. And the only South show I've missed was the one where they were playing while I was at the Coldplay show at First Ave (but I didn't miss this show). I've been pretty shitty about keeping up with my concert calendar, but with the new Raconteurs album being out, that's all going to change. Their show was one of the best I saw when they were here a couple of years ago.

So, yeah. My job is shitty, but it's giving me money to go see bands that make me so very fucking happy. I'm really sorry for all of these woe-is-me-my-job-sucks posts. I feel like a broken fucking record. Probably because I am a broken fucking record. I suck.


Jen said...

I'm of the belief that Elbow can cure just about anything.

Jess said...

I really can't agree more. That's what is keeping me going at the moment.

Jen said...

I'm sorry to hear you are having such a bad time of it, Jess. And I am a bad friend for not having emailed you in forever to see what's up with all of this. Just know that even when I'm not in touch, I am thinking of you. Seriously.

Jess said...

I wouldn't worry about not e-mailing. You'd just be getting a rehashing of the same bitching I'm doing here and the same bitching I'm doing in person and over the phone to everyone else.

I feel like a broken record. Even I'm sick of listening to myself complain. But I feel like if I don't let it out somewhere, I'll feel even worse. Maybe a really good cry tonight will do the trick.