Weekends are tired things. I spend the entirety of my week tired, waiting for the weekend, and when it comes I’m more exhausted than a week at work. It ain’t fair, man. Maybe it’s the coffee; 6 cups a day, Monday thru Friday. One on the way to work, one as soon as I get in. Another on my 15 minute break. One on the hour. Sometimes another on the last 15, and one at night. Makes 6, right? I’m bouncing right outta the cubicle. Gotta stand for at least an hour. Working towards a heart attack by 30. This full time bit just ain’t for me. If it weren’t for all the caffeine I’d be on my ass by noon. By the time I get home I’m ready for shorts and the internet.
I’d spend all my weekends in bed if I didn’t have a damn thing to do. Instead I gotta paint, or help a friend out, or do this. Hard to keep relationships steady when the tray’s full. Hang out tired, quiet, ready for bed at all times. Just ain’t fair, man.
Used to be on the weekends we’d go up to the mountains and catch a glimpse. Before all the leaves changed color; haven’t seen it orange and red yet, don’t know if I’ll get the chance. Stuck in a grey building for 8 hours a day. Only chance I get to go outside is to stare at concrete parking decks. From the window inside there’s a wild view of NY, it’s beautiful even when the sky looks like it’s going to wash it all away.
On my breaks I eat quick, take the elevator to *Lobby, get in my car and close my eyes. Sometimes I sleep, other times I just rest for half an hour. It’s the only shot I get to get away from white walls and beige carpeting. Pulled away from a view that’d look so much better if glass weren’t separating me from it. All the walls disappear when my eyes are closed, all the colors turn to dots of light. Sometimes I go up the mountains in my mind, just stand at the top of a peak I’ never got to climb and look around. Sometimes I just think about all the shit I have to do after my break, after 5 pm.
My coworkers find me quirky, “weird”. I just can’t sit in a chair and do my job. Sometimes I’ll draw a picture for a desk neighbor. Other times I’ll write short stories and send them to their work emails. Once I put on a Jaws paper puppet show. Usually I stare at the phone, watch it rotate between “Status: Available” and the time. Don’t really know why but the supervisors love me. Even when I’m trying to make coworkers laugh while on the phone. Or dancing without music. Some coworkers call me a teacher’s pet though I never talk to supervisors. I have a “fuck it” mentality; if I screw something up, somebody’s bound to let me know. I don’t strive to be perfect, I just strive to learn and trust my instincts.
It’s a seasonal job, it’s nothing special. I write blogs for greeting cards. It’ll end early December. People ask me what I’m going to do after but I have no idea. I’ll be back to the insecurities, internal beat ups of unemployed life. Back to counting pennies before rolling them up and hoping I have enough for a cup of coffee. Still writing full time, back to being unpaid.
In the meantime, in the 5 weeks I have before everything flies back into the air, I’m trying to save. I blew through it all last unemployed spell; everything gone in less than a month. I can do what I have to but it’ll probably happen again. It’s going to be a long winter.