04 August 2012

What a hot mess

Life seems so fucked up right now.

Now, don't get me wrong. Life is good in so many ways. We just wrote the check that pays off Sunshine's truck, we're waiting on some paperwork that will pave the way to pay off the loan Sunshine took out on his Harley to float payroll for a large job, he has a new business venture in the works that could be big; I have a job, I am looking into classes that could open some doors to a better job...

The list of good shit is so much longer than this, and for that I am grateful.

It's just that I've long been one of those people who seem to be driven so batshit crazy by the little shit. Like, if a tree fell on the Harley or the truck, Sunshine and I would both get all Tony-Soprano-philosophical, shrug, and ask "what are you gonna do?" and begin to pick up the pieces. However, unlike Sunshine, I am going to go batshit crazy over the little shit. Like which way the toilet paper comes off the roll, or the sweaty t-shirt he stuffed in between the couch cushions after work, or some other inconsequential triviality.

Which is why the last week or so has been so bad for me. Work has gone batshit crazy. Our store manager was fired. The assistant manager, who is a very dear sweet woman, has been filling his shoes as well as doing her own job; while at thee same time, employees are either behaving badly and upsetting the scheduling or just plain quitting and upsetting the scheduling. We have day shift workers working nights and graveyards because of workers quitting, we have night shift workers getting shifted to days because the manager wants to monitor their bad behaviour, we have night shift people forced to fill in on graveyard shift to fill the void left by people who quit, and new employees that can't get trained fast enough to get put on the shift they were hired to fill. It's a fucking mess. It is severely and negatively affecting my life and recovery.

(We won't even talk about the fugly-ass, uncomortable shoes that I have to wear at work, or the craptastic polyester 'smock' that is also required, which would normally drive me beyond batshit insane but are now just sidenotes to the real issue.)

I can't develop a routine or schedule for anything, including my sleep, diet, meds, or recovery as long as the work schedule remains so fucked off.

Holy baby cheesus, I just realized that the tv table is collapsing into itself under the weight of the monstrosity we call a television set, which means that the new floors and entertainment center just moved up on the priority list.

I digress.

I'm grateful for the fear that kept me awake the other night. Fear is a great motivator, you know. I do not want to return to the hell from whence I came. I also have reached that point where the pain of remaining the same outweighs the fear of change.

In other words, recovery is about solutions. Thank heaven that I am not so out of touch with my recovery that I don't have sense enough to scream for help. I screamed to Sunshine, to my sponsor, and to a dear friend who probably saved my life (at minimum, my sanity) by suddenly hitting me up on gchat. I screamed for help, and got sugggestions.

So, I am getting into the solution. I hope.

I have asked to be taken down to only four days a week at work. This will give me time to reinvest in my recovery, which is desperately necessary. It will also give me time to invest in my future, through doing things to increase my spoken spanish skills and look for a job that doesn't ask me to work crazy rotating shifts and doesn't require fugly, uncomfortable shoes and clothes.

Because I am worth it. Because if one person tells me I am a monkey and have a tail, I can probably ignore it; but when three people tell me I am a monkey and have a tail, I need to start peeling bananas with my toes and picking bugs off of Sunshine's scalp and eating them (and three people told me yesterday to quit my job, look for something else, and save my sanity).

So thank you for listening to my rant. Now, I'm off to get into some solutions. Like drinking my nutrition shake, because I don't want to repeat that pattern right now. Shit is too precarious as it is without adding physical collapse to the list.


  1. Let me add my voice to the crew saying to jump the fuck off that ship. Nothing is more important than your recovery because without it you have nothing. You are worth it.