Everyone’s getting sick. The boy started getting sick last week. Mom got sick this weekend. I made a point of trying to steer clear of the sickies. I thought I had succeeded avoiding illness, until I started driving to work today. I feel pretty rotten, but thankfully I’ve managed to avoid the stuffed up nose.
Tonight, after work, I stopped quickly at Walmart, and as I was passing through the grocery section, I heard some of the employees screaming at each other. I don’t know what had caused the argument, I just know that one employee told another employee to “go to hell.” After I walked away, I got to thinking. In general, I like my job. Sure, there’s rough moments, but all in all, it’s a good job. However, I find that lately I gripe about it quite a bit. You know who doesn’t gripe about his job? The boy. He listens to my whining, and honestly if anyone should be griping about their job, it should be him. He works really hard, and I know it’s not his dream job, and yet he doesn’t complain. And he’s so ridiculously patient and listens to all my griping. I feel really awful about that.
I know I tend to look at the darker side of life. I think I frequently forget to be thankful. I get so wrapped up in worrying about what might go wrong, I only look at the negative things. So, I’m going to try really hard to be more optimistic, and trust that the worst isn’t always going to happen.
Mom says that when I was born, I had this worried little look on my face. Apparently it was such a good impression of my dead great-grandmother, it earned me the instant nickname, “Little Wilma.” (Wilma was the dead great-grandmother, and apparently was a bit of a worrywart. I felt I should probably clarify that). I didn’t used to think I deserved the nickname. Lately, though, I’m starting to think I do.
A few years ago, I went through the terrifying experience of being unemployed for over a year (after being employed at what I thought was a long term job for 3.5 years). It was at the end of that year that I went back to school for a year and a half. The time from when my last “real” job ended until I was employed at my current job was two and a half years. It was a horrible time in my life, especially the first year when I was job hunting. I came to believe that I was the most worthless waste of space on planet Earth. It didn’t help that there’s was this constant thought in my head that I didn’t even deserve to have a roof over my head. Even now, I’m very aware of the fact that I should have been homeless.
When I got hired at my current job, I was so excited. It was my dream job. Working in a lab. Wearing a lab coat. Being an integral part of the medical community, but not having to actually deal with patients (just, y’know, what comes out of their bodies). Even now, just over a year there, I still get excited that I get to work there. However, with the excitement comes a whole slew of other emotions.
I’m really scared and stressed out. Every day, I’m filled with panic because I love my job so much, and I don’t want to lose it. And the funny thing is, that’s not even something I’m looking at having happen. Everything has been really good. My co-workers are great. My boss is great. The work is fantastic. My last job and those years of unemployment just messed me up so bad, I’m really struggling. I have a co-worker that has told me, more than once, that I need to “lighten up,” and I wish I could tell him how badly I want to be able to.
Not only that, but I wish I could figure out how to lighten up. I’ve basically got six years of baggage hanging over my head that I’m trying to figure out how to deal with. I really want to be able to let down my guard and start letting my co-workers in, because right now I’m not sure I seem to terribly different from the Ice Queen, Lady Mary.