What seems like a long time ago, when I first "retired" from the Beverage Company I hoped that the next job I found would be less stressful.
I figured that I would take it easy for awhile. My father was very ill and I had been away from home for over two years and wanted to spend time with family. My Mom's 80th birthday party was planned for that summer and relatives from all over were coming in for the celebration. There was plenty of time "later" to look for a job.
I began to envision the career I would seek out. Less stressful meant I could leave it at the doorstep when I went home. I did not want my cell phone ringing 24/7 with problems I had to smooth over or find a way to resolve. I wanted a job where I could sleep soundly at night and not toss and turn until the sky began to lighten and soften from the blackest of night to the gray of a winter morn. I wanted to not bolt upright from a sound sleep when my subconscious remembered I forgot to download my orders the evening before because I got distracted. Or bolt upright from a sound sleep when I remember that today is the day I am suppose to turn in a lost equipment report which I have not even started. I wanted to not feel myself become worried senseless because I have upset a customer with some regulation that is outside my realm of authority and those higher up could care less. I wanted to leave behind forever the mini anxiety attacks being brought on by some Big Wig from Atlanta that was going to hop in my car and spend the day with me visiting the Bengal Camp. And on and on and on.
I wanted a job where I did not have to recall what I wore last week so that I would not wear the same thing twice to visit an account.
I rolled it over in my mind that wearing a uniform would be good. Very good. It would be heaven to not think about clothes!
And my wish came true. I iron my pastel button down oxford shirts and laugh at the absurdity of my never having worn much less owned such a shirt before. My apron with my name and lone star makes me ponder irony.
As I fall into bed and sleep soundly and without a single honest work related care in the world, as the frustrations of too much responsibility are replaced by the frustrations of ego...
As I wake at 330am in the morning after a deep six hours of sleep I also marvel at the power of the invisible hand coupled with the fickle finger of fate that can make a dream a reality.
2 comments:
It's very hard to make that transition. There are days when I wonder I want I want to do an impression of Marlon Brando in On The Waterfront, saying instead, "I used to be somebody!" instead of "I coulda been a contender!" The days when friends or clients from years back come again and see what I'm doing now are the worst.
You seem to be finding things to like about the Biscuit Basket... You always have a great attitude, Mary. But you never know what's going to happen. I was "semi-retired" once, and now I'm the queen of work-related stress. Don't think there are not times when I long for the boring old days...
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