Oh, Fallen London, you are really the swell and dandiest, particularly with your free and easy gifts of the titles for posts.
I have about ten tabs open and I am feeling more than a bit overwhelmed, digitally, and in the good old analog braincase. Let’s do this, please.
Thoughts and feelings, thoughts and feelings! I now, essentially, have a second job. With the caveat that I have to explain to my current boss tomorrow that halving my hours means I need a second job and that I’ve got one, at least for the summer and I need to shift things around to accommodate it. I think this is fine. I can just work full days there 3 days a week and work a day and a half at the new one. It’s stressful, I suppose, for all of us, and I’m half afraid that she’d say, oh, I intended to put you back on full-time June 1, but I don’t financially get that as even being possible, at all, so…I am looking after me. She could also say, well, that’s too much of an inconvenience for me, so goodbye you, which is not really likely, but everything feels within the realm of possibility these days.
It’s only retail, it’s only about 25 hours a week with about what you’d expect to make doing retail. It’s a stopgap measure to keep me in food and drink and health insurance. This is not the excitement about it. The excitement is it’s working in my mentor’s boutique clothing store, they trust me enough that it’s was about 10 minutes of chatter before we started laying out schedules. They also want to talk about me helping with social media/copywriting…some things that I’m interested in doing anyway. I know these ladies and I know their vibe, I know the town, and they care about me and my life, the role writing plays, and even the fact that I’m kind of at a mental crossroads. They get that this is rough. I feel immediately like, oh, wow, I can’t break this. I can just be carried by it until I get a clue.
It’s also rough because once this all gets conferred and confirmed, I can’t tell my parents. I can’t because we’ve agreed in the great High Council of this house that they don’t need to know, the little sister, the aunt, either. This would only lead to histrionics and heaving sighs and phone calls about if we’re going to die in the gutter and other things I am starting to believe are not exactly likely. It is, in fact, our lives rather than anyone else’s and their freak-out doesn’t change the bank balance and perhaps, it would be good to be able to say, yes, this happened, but we got it covered.
But for now, no telling, no facebooking, certainly not until the current boss is made to know the plans as I see them. I feel shitty because I’m enforcing this boundary of addressing my needs rather than martyring myself – the usual act of comfort. I also feel shitty because this is a new schedule change I have to adjust to, a new place I need to make sure I’m giving energy and attention.
Overall, though. This is good.