My-Yesterday, I completed a big application for a job that I’m moderately interested in, and as a reward to myself, I told myself that if I filled out the application in full, I would spend my-today in recreation. I wasn’t sure that I deserved it when it came time to go, but I went, and I had fun. I’ll plan to make these sorts of weekly “big” excursions in exchange for working throughout the week.
It’s 9:25pm on August 15, and I just submitted my first application for a job after about eleven days of mourning the loss of what seemed like a good job. I was somewhat productive throughout that time in looking for work, but much of it was looking within to figure out what I want out of my career. I can’t predict or prevent bad managers from infecting my mentality, but I can identify them sooner now.
My-Yesterday, I pushed myself in asking myself if I had anything else I wanted to work on with my episode of Media Maintenance wherein I published all of the essays I wrote on my bus rides into work. The same work I quit. After I completed that recording, I went to bed, exhausted, and on my way to bed, I recognized what I had experienced one week previously: a nervous breakdown caused by my employment.
As part of my workday writings perspective, I wanted to take this time to assess how recreation, avocation, and vocation all balance out in the name of doing work that you might enjoy in life. Especially now that our jobs are our lives, and that we must work basically until we die, where retirement is a myth, we might as well try to find ways to cope with our jobs. This essay/video explores this topic.
This will be the last in the “Workday Writings” series I’ll be writing for a while because I quit my job my-today. The short of it was that I woke up at 4am with an overwhelming sense of fear about work. This job had caused me so much fear that I couldn’t even summon the courage to give it one more day. Even working remote, I couldn’t escape the severe criticism for doing everything incorrect.
It’s morning and the last on-site day we’ll have in a while. I would celebrate more but the addictive side of myself is having a rough go. I wanted to go explore on my half-day, perhaps get some groceries or otherwise engage in capitalism, but as the root of my addictive behaviors is primarily capitalistic, where my stresses mostly are from performing my function in this society, I must disengage to prevent any possible relapse.
It’s morning and I’m so overwhelmed with work that even taking what little anti-anxiety medication I was prescribed years ago hasn’t helped. I might be more mentally distant from the anxiety, but it’s still there. Depending on how my-today goes regarding taking calls, I will either be ok or ok with looking for other work. If they massively critique pedantry, I will have to accept that this job isn’t for me and plan to leave.
It’s morning and I have no energy. I might say passion as a more accurate term. My employer’s trainer has thoroughly beaten into me a sense that I don’t care if I’m fired. We’ve been going over so much material, everything is so important, or “important,” to remember, there’s such a rush for us to start taking calls, and the feeling like we’re so entitled for getting training. I will do what I can muster.
I feel like I’ve made the wrong decision for my career and the consequences may not be the easiest to meander through. I don’t want to talk about the details – I can’t, because, obviously, I’m still working there – but the general perspective I have is that I went from an easy contract to an overly-stressful full-time role. Maybe full-time employment isn’t the route for me? We’ll see over the next few weeks how this goes.
I have to be honest with myself that I’m unhappy with this new job. I suppose I’m about as happy with it as I could, in some respects, but in others it is as stressful of a job as I’ve ever encountered, or more, and that’s not worth it to me. I would list this essay under the Sober Living tag, but I feel it’s important to document my mentality about this clearly and chronologically.
