The biggest of which is bloody Murphy’s Law. Seriously, if your boss or coworker says; “Oh I don’t think you’ll be that busy tonight,” tell them to shut their craptastic mouth and then knock on the nearest piece of wood that is readily available.
Why do I say this?
Because my supervisor said that very thing and my night quickly went to shit. I didn’t think it was going to be that bad. It’s Monday, who in their right mind wants fast food on a Monday?
In the same thought; who their right mind wants fast food period? Doesn’t anyone know how to cook? Or at least appreciate a home cooked meal? Seriously, people. That’s why man invented the stove. It works wonders on your health, your opinion of your domicile inhabitants go up, and the world is a happier place.
*gets off soapbox*
So, my night goes to hell. I’m stuck making pizza after bloody stromboli after calzone after calzone. Adding wings and fries on top of the rest, and I’m a regular walking grease machine. All this time I’m thinking (in between periodic spats of help from my also stupid busy duty manager) “it’s gotta slow down some time. It’s never this busy on a Monday.”
Nope. Not a break in the line. All night long.
Am I ranting? Yes.
Why am I ranting? Because, sometimes, that’s what a blog is for.
Am I going to regret this post? Probably. Even as I write this, I know I’m throwing a temper tantrum and screaming “it isn’t fair!” and the rest of you are more than likely rolling your eyes and telling me “life isn’t fair.”
These things I know. I also know that I’m allowed to get annoyed at my job for reasons that I’d rather not explain here. Because you just don’t do that. You rant and rave about your crappy job to the cold, unfeeling internet, not delve into an intellectual discussion about what is wrong and right about the way things are run.
And, to be quite honest, I’ve noticed that my work seriously impacts my writing. I don’t think I’ve gotten a week’s worth of good sleep all in one go. The nights I do fall asleep, it’s with the aid of melatonin pills. I’m irritable at work, and at home.
God help me if I ever have children.
The worst part about all of this is; when I do come home,I’m too tired to write. Or, I just plain don’t want too. If I do get the chance to write, it takes me a long while to do so. It’s like I’m wired for sound despite being exhausted. Last night I managed to get a chapter written after much fiddling with Facebook.
All hail Facebook, the ultimate writing distraction.
This is the part where I start to think “well maybe I’m not supposed to be writing this story.”
Hah. Yeah. No. Fuck that right in the bunghole. I’ve been working on this story too damned long and too damned hard just to relax back in my seat, fold my arms behind my head, sigh and say “well, it was a good try.”
So, what do I do?
I really don’t know. I could take a break for a while, just let the story simmer and cook until things at work get straightened out and I have a more workable schedule. I could make the best of a bad situation and learn to adapt to the stress and save the bulk of my writing for my days off.
I could do a combination of the two suggestions; get situated with a new schedule, catch up on my sleep, and save the bulk of the story for my days off, setting aside a good two or three hours where I’m not allowed to do anything but write.
Yeah. Maybe that’ll work.
Cool. I’ll try that. It’s amazing what you can figure out when you sit down to rant to a cold, unfeeling, autonomous internet.
Thank you, Al Gore, you’re super awesome!
I think now I’ll finish my cuppa and tuck myself in for the night. Apologies to anyone who does read this rant. I needed to vent. I’ll be back to normal soon.