17 August 2008

Remember a time when you were really, really happy.

Um, what if I can't think of anything?

Man, I really, really suck at life. I finally made it to a yoga mini-retreat this morning. It was pretty good. I was hoping for more challenging poses and whatnot, but she focused more on adjusting our various basic poses. I suppose she can't get too crazy when there were people there who had only done yoga for a few months.

It's not like it wasn't helpful or anything. The adjustments were great. Well, she only made one on me, but having my hips pushed back while in Downward Facing Dog was most excellent. Turns out my heels totally can absolutely touch the ground. Go figure.

It was really nice to be outside, too. We were in the Russian Yogi's backyard out in the suburbs. She lives on a little lake. Aside from the next-door neighbor using power tools and the fucking cargo planes flying overhead, it was really peaceful. I had a grasshopper on my calf and didn't even realize it until the girl next to me told me so.

But back to me sucking at life. During Savasana, Russian Yogi was trying to get us nice and relaxed and focusing on good things. So, she told us to remember a time when we were really, really happy. And I couldn't think of a goddamn thing. Not even a time recently when I was pretty happy. I settled for sitting out on the deck on a lovely evening after yoga, drinking a glass of wine. Which always makes me very content.

I'm trying so hard not to think about work, but I was already dreading it yesterday. My tension headache was around in full force all day and I felt absolutely fucking drained, despite eight hours of good sleep Friday night and what is usually an energizing Saturday morning yoga class. I was looking forward to going to bed at like 1:00 yesterday afternoon.

The World's Worst Wing Woman came over for a bit on the spur-of-the-moment and we talked a lot about my work situation. She apparently wasn't aware that I hate my job, so I had to explain it all to her. I felt a little less stressed talking about it, but not all that much. And I momentarily felt better after yoga this morning, but I was crying in the shower an hour ago, so that didn't really take, I guess.

It is going to get better, though. It fucking has to get better, right? I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I am talking like everyone else there about how much I love the place and the work I do.

Except, of course, I was crying today because I am no longer doing work that makes me feel good. I made a choice a while ago to have a life and a job -- not a job that is my life. That being said, my jobs for the last 10 years or so have generally been jobs that helped to make someone's life better. The work I do now is pretty much just to help other people make money. I thought I could handle it, but it makes me feel icky and dirty. Maybe that's why I got on this public transportation/reusable bags/mini-enviro kick. It's like penance (always a Catholic!).

Bah. I'm going to go to the Herkimer in bit and get Sunday drunk and try to stop dwelling on this shit for a while.


Michelle said...

I hope getting Sunday drunk helped your spirits! I love getting Sunday drunk.

I am sorry that your work situation sucks so much. Maybe you could find some kind of volunteering to fufill helping people. Just a thought.

Jess said...

Sunday drinking was pretty good. There is something terribly naughty about it, isn't there?

Emily said...

When I worked at a PR agency, I felt sick and dirty not only because all I was doing was helping people make money (and not being paid well for it at that), but I felt like I was twisted the truth to do it.

I totally see where you're coming from on that point.

Jess said...

I didn't feel dirty in my brief PR career -- but that's because I was doing PR for a coalition working to reduce pollution from the medical industry and then working for an anti-poverty agency.

When I was in Journalism school, I could never have fathomed going to work for a PR agency, precisely because of the twisting-the-truth feeling, Emily. I admire your fortitude for being able to do it at all.

Bah. I'm just so fucking tired of this. Why do I have to care so much? Why can't I just show up, put in my eight (to 10, with no lunch) hours and then go home and not worry about the little things or the big things?

abbersnail said...

I can so completely relate to this! I work for a warm-and-fuzzy non-profit, and I feel like vomiting all the time. I don't understand how I can be so highly educated and barely able to pay my bills. I totally feel like I suck at life.

The point is: I want you to know you aren't alone. Someday soon we'll both figure it out. I have faith.

Jess said...

It really does feel good to know I'm not alone. I hope you think the same!

And I totally understand being overeducated and not making squat for a salary because you've chosen to Do Good Work. I hate that. Hate. It.

Still, I think I'd rather be in that situation. How terribly fucking sad.

Hugs all around. And drinks. Lots and lots of drinks.

Emily said...

Don't admire me too much, I didn't last too long in that job. :)