A Day Off

Mondays are my day off from my job.

I don't work 24/7. But I worry 24/7. And I beat myself up almost as much. I'm sure, if you've spent any time with this blog you've already figured that out.

I took the day off from worry today. Had some lunch, did some grocery shopping and finally took myself to see "Sex and the City" (now that it is at the $3 second-run house). I tried "illegal downloading" that movie, in order to save myself the precious $9.50. It was awful. I will never do that again, officer, I swear. I've learned my lesson. Must have been filmed with a tiny camera located inside a baseball hat. Bad colors, sound and worst of all, only the top half of the screen showed for most of the time. A lot of noses and eyes.

"Sex and The City" is a fantasy world where everybody makes enough money to afford $500 pairs of shoes and they all wear designer outfits and nobody has lost their figures well into their 40's. But "bad" things do happen to them, from time to time. And while they go through depressions, they are blissfully short. And these ladies don't beat themselves up for days on end.

There was something wistful seeing the four heroines again. Seeing them compared to 20-something women and listening to them spout their learned wisdom. Yesterday, my sister and I sat with her girlfriend on the porch and we also commented on how "clueless" we were in our 20's. There was a comfort for me, seeing Lisa's friend, unashamed of her Rubenesque body as she sat across the table from me scooping up guacamole with a chip. She had just ridden 35 miles down to the lake and around town on her bike. In a town filled with hills! I was amazed at her energy and bravery and hope she is as comfortable in her skin as she seemed.

It was good to have a day off to contemplate all of this. And not beat myself up for it.

It Didn't Occur to Me

It didn't even occur to me that tonight's host might want to promote next week's show tonight. I hadn't confirmed that show yet and had to apologize to him. I feel just awful.

I have been doing this job without much direction. When I do get direction, I follow orders and get things done well. But I need a road map. I need some guidance and unless I screw something up and am told, I don't know that I made a mistake. I do NOT like this way of training. Everything is done on the fly. I like being given guidelines and then, after I've learned those, improvise.

Every morning, I awaken to a sinking feeling in my stomach that churns into anxiety. I hope I'm doing the right thing. I hope the books and guests I'm getting please the host and the other producers. I hope the way I've been communicating to publishers and possible guests is correct. So much is unclear. So much is in the air. I think I need a bit more entrepreneurial spirit to excel at this. Perhaps I was meant to be a worker bee and not a queen bee.

Real or Imagined

This morning I awoke with a sense of impending doom about my job. Existing on the edge financially, like I do, I tend to worry a lot. The worrying is interspersed with moments of frivolity and happiness but it is always there, like a sinister shiver, waiting to overtake me at any time.

Perhaps I've reached the age where I want to be able to do something well and do it for a long time. Is that called settling down? I'm still learning this new producer job. I am horribly unsure of myself and have been hesitant in conversations with my boss and with the host of the show. I am doing my absolute best - so far and so far I feel under equipped.

I keep thinking that they wished they'd hired someone else. My friend says they won't get rid of me because I'm working for very little money. Except for the pizza job, though, I have always felt insecure in my places of employment. Perhaps it started with radio - watching so many colleagues fired - just for working at a radio station whose music was no longer in fashion. I was sure the ax would all on me at any moment. I hated that feeling and I think I carried it with me wherever I went, after that.

So, I don't know if my current job malaise is real or imagined. Logic tells me it is imagined. But it feels so real.