It’s late and I’m sick, so of course, I’m beyond the point of exhaustion but at that point where the emotional mind is too active to let sleep settle on the body it inhabits. I was puffy before, the combination of tired and sick doesn’t wear well on me, but the sobbing has made me even puffier. It’s attractive, really.
I knew it was going to happen this week. I knew it. I felt the sore throat last night and I drank a glass of water, foolishly believing that would be enough to stem the coming sickness. It wasn’t. When I woke up this morning, I was sick. It was settling into my throat, my head was starting the heavy ache behind my ears. I knew it. And yet, I thought that if I could just get to work, I could push it off.
I couldn’t. Now, many hours later, I’m unable to sleep and feeling worse than I have at any point today.
2:30 found me strep testing at Kaiser (god, what another lovely experience to add to my glorious review of segmented care and its effects on sanity – the woman on the phone sighed, loudly, as I asked her how to obtain a strep test and then asked me if I thought it was really necessary. Generally people don’t pick up the phone and say, I’d love for unnecessary tests, please! But wait, regular Kaiser doesn’t offer rapid strep tests. Their after-hours clinic does. So even though I was swabbed at 2:30 and dropped it at the lab some time around 2:45, I won’t know if I have strep or not until after 1pm tomorrow.)
Of course, the consensus at work was that I’ve been stretching myself too thin and that I need to cut back. Which is horrible to hear. I’ve been busting my ass lately, trying to cover all the bases and exceed expectations at all of my jobs. I’ve halted work on my freelancing gig, so technically, I’m down to three.
Last week when one of my co-workers at my real job told me that I should really take stock of my own performance because I could be fired at any time, I didn’t blink or feel a flutter of panic in my stomach. All I could think about was what it would be like to sleep. Or what it would be like to see my friends. Or clean my house. Or have 2 days off. I really don’t want to be fired; I love my job. You have to understand that. I really love my job.
[You’re all welcome to cross-reference my social calendar, too, just in case you’re curious. I’m defensive, yes, but I’m getting sick of fielding bullshit statements like, “But oh my god, you do all this stuff.” I’m 24. I’m trying to build a life. I can’t help that I want to do stuff. It’s not like I’m buying Lanvin left and right. A girl that I went to high school with started blogging and was discussing the fact that she has champagne taste and a beer budget. Her beer budget was J.Crew. My beer budget is Wal-Mart runs for cosmetics when funds and supplies run low simultaneously. My beer budget is that I love Nordstrom Rack and am willing to comb through rack and rack to find something that will fit well, wear well, and is also like 75% off. Yeah, I buy shit. And it’s none of your business. And yes, it’s always on sale. I grew up on all things “SALE,” I’m well-versed in playing pretend with economic status instead of doll-inspired dream houses. Trust me.]
“Your dreams are not what you thought they’d be.”
Trying not to feel like a failure is harder than it looks. I think that the harder you try to convince yourself that there’s still hope and that positivity is key, the harder you fall when the pieces you’re so carefully holding on to start to slip. That’s where I’m at right now: wrung out and exhausted, hopeless, crying, inconsolable. I have no idea where I went wrong. The truth is, I have none of it together. It’s full-time panic and there’s no way out. So honestly, I don’t give a shit if anyone thinks I’m spread too thin. Right now, that’s all I’ve got. It’s do or die and there’s no going back.
Sleep. For now, I will let sleep do some healing and let’s hope for sunshine tomorrow. The best piece of advice I ever got was, “When you’re upset, just go to sleep. It will pass.” The advice-giver was not wrong.