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| Kind of like this. |
I didn't finally notice it until an opportunity came up at work. A few new shifts had opened up, and one of them was PERFECT. 8:30am to 5pm, Tuesday-Friday. With that shift, I could work and then have enough day left over for an actually social life! I could go out at night and see movies or dance or whatever folks do in the evenings. Plus, I would have the weekends off, which means that I could interact with other people during the times they're off work. In addition, working 32 hours would qualify me for benefits- medical and dental insurance would be mine!
Eagerly, I informed my boss of my desire- nay need - for this shift.
Of course I didn't get it.
No indeed. You see, shift changes are on a seniority basis- the longer you've been there, the more likely you get the shift. Almost everyone wants to work normal, human hours, mostly for the same reasons I mentioned. And I'm one of the newest employees...
So yeah, I didn't get it. And it gets worse. Instead of what I actually wanted, I instead got the least desirable shift out of the options presented to me. I shall have my long coveted 32 hours and the nifty benefits that entails. But I'm still stuck working nights, and I lose out on my Sunday. That basically means I have no weekend, and what little social interactions I have will wither faster than my manhood dipped in ice water.
As vexing as that is, I'll get over it. No, the real pain isn't from that kick in the crotch, but rather the two painfully throbbing aftershocks it compels me to endure.
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| "Enough of the groin metaphors!" |
1. It has forced me to realize just how dissatisfied I am having my nights taken up by work. I've been working evenings for about 4 years now, and I don't like it. By the time I get off work, the general populace is safely tucked into their beds, experiencing blissful dreams about puppies or vacations or boobs. I'm usually dragging myself off to dreamland by the time those same people are waking up and heading to work.
Now I suppose I could go to sleep when I get home from work. That would allow me some potential social interactions while the sun is in the sky. But that presents its own problems; I would be pooped by the time I went to my long, eight hour shift at my somewhat stressful job, and being tired when I'm at work is a special kind of Hell. And it still wouldn't solve the problem of doing fun activities with like minded individuals ( or friends, as they are sometimes called), because I would be going to work when they are getting off.
2. With the realization of how much I hate evening shifts came recognition of why I hate them. As long as I'm stuck working late, I will never be able to realistically pursue my acting career. For that was the ultimate goal of moving away from Alaska; I should be out there performing. Instead, I've let the banal trivialities of the day to day grind bog me down as if I were trudging through the murkiest quagmire imaginable.
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| Well, almost the murkiest quagmire... |
Too much of theatre happens at night; auditions, rehearsals, and the actual performances happen at night, with few exceptions. It's basically impossible to get back in the game with my current schedule. And that just won't do.
Finding good paying employment was supposed to be just a stepping stone towards my eventual goal- a means to an end. Somehow, I got sidetracked, and the goal became obfuscated by a myriad of annoying minutiae, buzzing around my head like gnats.
As I lay here, on the ground in the fetal position, clutching futilely at nuts smashed into ruined oblivion, I can't help but ponder the issue. I'm faced with a quandary. What do you do when the means no longer supports the end, but instead interferes with it?
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| This about sums it up. |
