I don't often write out my feelings anymore, especially not on word-processor software, but sometimes things just build up to the boiling point. The day just didn't start out well, what with failing to remind Jennifer Hillard, my potential temp agency contact, that I was going to come in today after one PM to take the data-entry test. The test itself, in the beginning, went better than my first attempt, my roomie graciously coming along to support me. Then I discovered the tests cascaded from binary testing, to word entry testing, to Excel proficiency, to Word proficiency, to grammar, to spelling, to several others tests I wasn't prepped for. I even started to fumble with the highly unexpected math part as my thoughts led to "oh god, it's taking so long--". Eventually, time passed, and the tests were over, my results unknown. God, I hate bothering Ms. Hillard with bottomless hope of finding a data-entry job for me, but that's what she's there for, I guess. Later in the day, thoughts channel-surfed to just how little I got accomplished during my extended vacation from work; no sewing repairs done, not much reading, no picture-editing, no other leads on potential jobs, and last but not least, no writing done. Yes, some social interaction is fine to strengthen relationships, fine, have that. But my heart feels like one of those over-sized 1920's barbells whenever I think of my future if I don't get off my fat ass and get published, in turn living how I exactly want to live. It's disgusting to know that a tiny slice of me thinks I will never be happy if I don't get to where I want to be, therein missing several juicy moments in life. Yet I refuse to give in to working world, "adult" standards, blending in with all the other strong, African-American ladies who read Maya Angelou daily, and drink their rooibos tea. Not that I have a problem with either. It's just that I've spent my whole vacation, specifically taken to get work done, playing video-games, feeling exhausted, and not getting nearly enough sleep. I mean, god-damn, it's not like I have the funds [nor the vacation time] to do this once ever two months, I'd never make any money. My only explanation is that I simply needed to not be at work, to just be lazy for a bit. If that's the case, I really should have bit the bullet, as they say, and taken two weeks off; one week to be lazy and/or clean house, the next to work and write. I'm going to go ahead and blame how tired working for the corporation makes me, if I may. I keep needing more time away from work, more time alone to sort out my endless pile of to-do lists, more time to just be, more time to botch social obligations.
When it comes down to it, I honestly don't think anyone can help me but me. There is only a certain amount of encouragement, whether false or sincere, loved ones can show before they hit the "hey, quit moping and get off your ass" mental button. I know there are people rooting for me, but I continue to find it hard to take some of their encouragement seriously. One day, there will come a time where I'll just socially shut down, and become an accomplishment-obsessed workaholic. Some days, I look forward to it. No getting around it, though, something has got to change; change of scenery, change of appearance, just god-damned something. I do enjoy various aspects of my life, but quite a bit of it is not getting me anywhere.
I understand that I continue to think I ought to be some kind of misfit god of sarcastic writing, a less scientific Mary Roach of some sort. Who am I to even begin to think that my life is actually going to make some kind of great story to tell? No one, that's who. So if I don't start to brainwash myself into something different, I'm going to die a moron. In retail, nonetheless.
So I guess that's that, for now. I think I've said what needs to be said. Might write more late [ha ha, fat chance, right?], or I might sell myself short, and just figure that nothing I do is ever going to change anything.
Or I could just quite my job and be at least a small chance happier.

Goddammit, why can't I at least have a working desk lamp?!