Thursday, January 17, 2008

Poor old me.

After my third and last day of work this week, I came home feeling a little sorry for myself. I could feel the funk starting to hit me as I waited in the long and slow line at Associated ("The Gross"--as my friend Danielle calls it) to buy one package of ravioli I would eat alone for dinner because Dan had a late meeting.

I came home, changed into my pajamas, and with my bowl of meat-filled pasta, I crawled under a blanket and watched Waitress, a movie about a woman who feels stuck in her life and whose only escape is the pies that she makes. By the end I felt completely miserable.

What was my deal? I had a great time this week, going back to my old job and seeing all my old friends, earning some much-needed cash in my pocket. But in some ways, going back to your old job is like going back to an old boyfriend. You meet up, it's been a while, he's looking pretty good, and you can only remember the great times you had together and are left wondering, where did it all go wrong? I kind of had to reel myself in. That's not my life anymore. I have a freelance life now. One that seems really overwhelming and lonely all of a sudden.

I went to bed and forced myself awake this morning at 10 with no ambition to do anything except crawl back into my bed to sleep some more. Which I did. I can't remember the last time I did something like that. So much for structured unemployment.

There really should be no reason for this depression. I got to work this week. I saw all my friends. I got an email in my in-box this morning from another magazine requesting an interview. Plus, I got a handful of contacts from my friends that I can reach out to.

I decided it was okay to give myself one day to feel like this. So I didn't do any job searching. I didn't go to the gym. I didn't go grocery shopping even though we have nothing to eat in the house. I tried my best not to feel bad about it.

The mess of the apartment has been contributing to my weariness so I tried to clean it up, taking breaks to check my email and read US Weekly about Trista's weight loss. It was not a great day, but a day I felt like I had to go through nonetheless. Tomorrow, it will only get better--right?

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