Nothing compares to that feeling of losing something. Whether it’s losing at the reality of life or whether it is losing something you hold dear. In some cases, it feels like both. I like to prepare my hours for the week on Monday so that I am less flustered on Friday. The first day of July (This Friday) was grayed out and I panicked. I thought, oh, this is how they let me know that Thursday is my last day. I held it together long enough to call my agency. Apparently my contract was through to July 1st, but my assignment hasn’t indicated that they wanted it to officially end yet, so I am working on getting Friday active again on my hours screen. This fright has made my numbered days feel like numbered minutes. Every temp knows that any day could be the last day. Not thinking those thoughts is what separates the good temps from the bad temps. I am finding it harder and harder to be positive though. I sometimes wish that I had not showed interest in the permanent position. Then this would be like any other assignment. A job that needs to get done by someone. Someone like me, who chose to be apart of the uneducated class.
It doesn’t help that Monday’s are always the worse for me. Not in the way that everyone hates Monday. I am not sure I hate Mondays. I just always feel like I am getting over a small case of agoraphobia every Monday. I stay locked up in my house all weekend, not saying a word, not doing much and then I am thrust back into society where I must smile and socialize. I want to run and go hide in my house, all alone. But I come back to work every Monday because the fear of losing my house is stronger than the fear of leaving it for 10 hours. I hope that one day, I won’t actually develop agoraphobia. After all, it’s all in my head and I control my head. I think therefore I do.
I have such anxiety this morning.
Just thinking about my numbered minutes. Sometimes my boss walks by my desk and I think, this is it. This is the moment that she will tell me my world is over. I find myself avoiding her out of fear. Like, if you can’t find me, you can’t release me. It’s silly and childish. I want to feel immature though. I want to hide in a cupboard and watch all the adults as they look for me. I look down at the finger tips pressing the keys to this blank document and I think, “These are not the hands of a child.” I can’t remember the day that I grew up but I look all around me and it’s evident that I am no longer a child and I haven’t been one for some times. I wish I could remember the exact moment when I crossed that line. Maybe it wasn’t a line but a series of achievements that just finally won me the grand prize. Like, Jen, you have done this, done that and survived this, you are ready to be a boring member of the society you loathe so much. Lovely, but what now? Is acting like I know to fool the younger generation apart of the package? I thought people my age hit 25 and magically, they knew the answers to all those questions. But in reality, I just got better at acting like I did. I wish I had learned the answer rather than learning how to deal with the unknown. I don’t want to deal. I want to know.
I feel lost, but I know that I have the tools to look found. If I looked how I felt, how different would my life really be? Seems like I would be worse off. I should count my blessing and be thankful my last minute isn’t this one.
Happy Monday readers.
