I keep telling myself that everything’s fine. I’m not stressed, says my brain. Nothing is wrong. No reason to panic. My body, however, says Yes. Yes, panic, it says, and repeatedly floods itself with the icy rush of anxiety. Or, since my brain seems to be monopolizing the more literary communication skills I have at my disposal, my body is instead rebelling: I’ve got cold sores erupting on my upper lip, in a burning cluster of ugly pain. This is the second time in my adult life that I’ve ever had cold sores, the first being when my ex and I broke up a few years ago. It’s as clear a sign of unresolved issues if there ever was one.
So, really: What’s wrong? Well, not much, and too many things. I’ve long struggled with rather illogical anxiety, so it doesn’t always matter how real the threats are… I perceive them as threats for one reason or another, and it can take a lot to talk me down.
I’m worried about my job interview next week on the mainland, worried that I won’t do well enough on the assessments, that I’m not strong enough for the physical components or smart enough for the academic. Then I worry about what will happen if I do get the job, and have to spend the next four years in totally remote parts of the province where I’ll have to devote my days to fighting loneliness and small-town-narrowmindedness. And bears. And travel-exhaustion, from all the monthly jaunts to visit my beloved in our home city.
If I don’t get the job, I still need to figure out something else to do to make a living because I need to get out of this current position. I just hate it, and worse, am quite bad at it. Telemarketing, even for a non-profit, even for useful services, is simply beyond my skills. And I’m not even super-keen on developing the needed skills, because really? I’ve got other skills, and I’d rather hone them instead. Give me a cafe, or a market stall, or an event, or an electrical system, or something to plan/fix/organize! I’m wishing I’d taken the local college’s intro to bookkeeping course at night school last year, because at least then I’d have a steady way of generating income in between electrical gigs or while developing my own business. The wretched thing is that I’m having nightmares about getting fired from this job, which somehome feels more shameful than getting fired from a job I like. Deep down, I suppose I believe I should be let go, because I sure as hell wouldn’t keep on someone as inept as I am.
…Annnnnnnnnnd I just had a brief phone chat with a friend, who told me that another friend (though more someone I only know through parties) had a stroke and is in the hospital. And that, dear readers, is where this pity party for FG ends, because these past twelve months have seen too much illness and death among my cohort. Being reminded of this has a way of putting all other shit in perspective, hardcore.