a dumb-ass stomachache deter me from writing!
I've been at my new job for almost a month now. Some people have told me it is my Shiva-given right to complain and bad-mouth the places at which I have worked (or work currently), but my common senses are tingling and Tina doesn't like to dwell on the negatives, for they swallow you whole and I've found myself to be the worst company when I'm dressed to the nines in negativity. Other people are fantastically good at reminding you of things like that. I work in close proximity to some who complain quite frequently - which I don't criticize in and of itself. There is a sense of solidarity that seems to string together this diverse group of suffering individuals when they speak on their sucktastic experiences. But, as with anything, moderation is key.
That wasn't my point. (If Tina sewed like she talks, she'd struggle to complete a stitch.)
Today was interesting.
I remember my sister saying she hated that word. "It doesn't mean anything," she had said. I don't know if she feels the same way now, but she was kind of right. Here - and quite often, these days - I use "interesting" to mean that one could note how awful I felt and say that I had a bad day. But stress isn't simply (and completely) bad and, I'll say this: I haven't been bored since I started. I'm always learning, I progress (remember more, need my notes less, am faster, more efficient) every day. My hours pass by quickly. I'm doing what I wanted to do for a while (that is, work a full-time desk job that pays a decent wage, so I'm not breaking my back - at times literally - for a pittance). None of the stress I've felt thus far competes with how grateful I am for the job at all.
And now I find myself enjoying writing (although I do it while fighting a painful stomachache), waiting for another interesting day. (Why Saturday will be interesting is something I am less apt to share in a public medium. Regardless of my present lack of readership. ;B)
I think shame is what I felt when I returned to NoVa. I hadn't given my life much thought. But feeling uncomfortable makes me feel like I'm moving in some direction, even if it ends up being the wrong one. (And what is "wrong", anyway?)