Work. It’s seriously an art/skill that’s learned, never really embraced. It doesn’t matter how excited or happy you are when you first land that gig or how accomplished you feel on your first payday. Two to three days in, shits bound to become repetitve and the price/the amount of effort you have to pay/put forth in order to receive that nice, fat paycheck is going to be more than apparent. Three to four weeks in, you’ll realize that you’re really recieving the shorter end of the stick and begin to believe that the phrases “minimum wage” and “slave labor” to be one in the same. Regardless, its an art, and an art that requires you to tuck your mind elsewhere while having the seconds of the day slowly tick by. The clock being your enemy. Gradually, you’ll begin to realize that no amount of intent staring will ever will those hands, let alone time to move any faster. And you’ll begin to find that the things that you wouldn’t usually find much to any amusement in to soon become your prime sources of entertainment. (Pointless facebook updates to people watching to what your co-worker did/didn’t do over the crazy weekend. Yeahhh, cool story bro).
It’s funny to think that its within this fine line of complete boredom and duty, within this 9-6 time frame, that I can’t help but to feel this quiet sense of comfort. There’s something about being able to have a problem or task be set before me and with some to little to no effort depending, be able to solve/complete it in a timely manner that just calms me. There’s just something about routine: routine tasks, routine faces, routine problems with the same routine protocol solutions that eases me. It’s in this busy workplace environenment that ironically, I’m actually able to catch a breather. Where I’m actually able to keep my mind anchored down and away from the clouds and keep my perspective clear from any leftover or unwanted emotions. It’s this small window of time in my day when I’m able to shut down and keep the thoughts that run through my head all night and day at bay.
A sort of unexpected source of peace, but a source that’s nonetheless, gratefully welcomed.
Why is it that it’s so easy for me to push someone to see the best that I see in them? To push them to not give up or lose face when they’re at their weakest. When in the moments when I feel at my weakest, it’s hard to see any good in me, let alone keep a firm grasp of my own sense of self in the midst of others. Why is it so damn easy for me to place so much trust and faith in others, when it’s so damn hard for me to trust or have faith in myself? Its this seemly permanent contradiction that never fails to stop me in my tracks and make me question my sense of character and my very sense of being.
When shes not yours, you’ll do everything in your power you can to get her. But when you do have her, you take everything for granted. So by the time you realize that you should’ve treated her right the first time, she’ll be with the guy that treats her right the first time. Why even let her get that far away?
I hate it how lately, the one thing that people tend to chastise me about is my money managing skills. Telling me that I need to learn how to budget or go out there and indulge on myself more often instead of going off and blowing off a weeks worth of paychecks on gifts or insisting on paying for the hefty bill at the end of each meal (and occasionally giving a dollar or two to the bum on the corner of trop and fort apache). Telling me that I’m wasting my money when really I’m not.
It’s that fleeting moment of seeing that person grin like a kid all over again despite having a bad day or see their eyes light up even for an instant or to even, on a more meaningful level: have them realize that they’re remembered in some little or even grand way, that makes it all worth while. The hours I spent working for what little wage I get every 2 weeks doesn’t matter. The material things that I covet or have my eyes on, ceases to matter. Worries about if I can afford the usual pricey meal or whatever, doesn’t matter, I can always cut back. What matters at the end of the day is that priceless smile and the feeling that I’ve given to those that I care about, whatever it is that I can. And that’s something I refuse to cut back on.
Now that to me, is money well spent.
I’ve always prided myself on being a strong person. Not in the sense that I harbor a strong personality or that my presence calls for authority or some kind of new found respect..but in the sense that I’ve always believed myself to be that individual that just knew how to handle her own. That somebody that could comfort/be there for a friend in need, silence babies with the sound of my name, rescue cats from trees, pick up the groceries when needed, help out at work, pay for the bills if there wasn’t enough to go around, walk grannies across the street, make like Shane Mosley and take the punches with grace and all while fucking exiting through a burning building, crying baby in the nook of my arms while still having my hair and picture perfect smile intact. Or atleast that’s what I’d like to believe.
I’ve always thought that I was that individual that didn’t need reassurance, that didn’t need to have people there to lean on. Only because I felt that I couldn’t break down on the others that leaned on me for their source of consistency/unwavering faith/stability. A voice of reason and understanding in the midst of conflict. I’ve never really been one to tell my problems to others due to the fear that I’d somehow burden them with my issues when they have enough on their plate to deal with. All these years, I’ve prided myself on being that strong individual that just..handled her shit and everyone else’s shit before it handled her/them and was fully capable of doing so.
But it’s only recently to where I’m starting to grow tired. I’m starting to show some wear and tear to the point where I just want to collapse. And the things that I usually would brush off with a smile and with a confident “don’t worry about it” now fills me with doubt. It seems like the more I try to tell myself that I’m ok, the more that I realize later that, deep down: I’m not. It seems like the more I try to prove to myself that I’m strong, the more I realize that I’m just as weak, just as broken, just as vulnerable to heartbreak as the next “
human” person over.