I’m already hired, I just have to get my current job’s schedule slightly altered to make room for this second job. Where is this second job? At the gas station that I was previously employed at, but I quit due to paranoia brought on by the two armed robberies I experienced in a 9 day period. I don’t think I’ll be too nervous working there because I’ve convinced myself that it will never, ever happen again. I should be okay.
That’s not the point. When I decided to take this job, I got all excited because I thought it was a step in the right direction towards “growing up”, a thing my mom has always urged me to do. I figure with this job (and the one I currently have), I’ll be more financially able to take care of the debts I have now and save money for the move that I’ve been planning. I’m pretty damn proud of myself for taking on so much in the name of maturity. So I told my mom. (And my ex, who I’m really good friends with, and a friend of mine from the casino (the one who I’m packing up and moving away with), and just about anyone else who would listen.) The reactions I got were all the same, but certainly not the type I was expecting.
“You’re going to die.”
That’s what they all told me. And it wasn’t “You’re going to die” like I’m going to be so tired from working two full time jobs that I’m going to feel/look/wish I was dead. It was “You’re going to die” like “Hey, pretty soon you’re not going to be alive anymore and it’s going to be because of this”.
Huh??
It’s because I don’t (well, I can’t really) eat. And I very rarely sleep. And my mom completely freaked out on me because I don’t take the pills that I got when I got out of the hospital. Seriously, she freaked. Our conversation went something like this:
Her: Y’know, you’re doing this to yourself.
Me: <insert blank stare here>
Her: You’re fucking with your liver, Sarah. This isn’t something you can fuck around with. [My mom says “fuck” a lot.]
Me: ::yawn:: <more blank stares>
Her (she’s getting pissed now): Why don’t you quit bitching about how sick you are and actually TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF?! You’re going to DIE, but you’re doing it to yourself!! Just take the fucking pills and GET BETTER!
Me: But–
Her: I don’t want to hear it. You wanna fuck with your liver? Fine. You wanna be sick all the time? Fine. You wanna DIE, fine. Fuck you. JUST FUCKING DIE THEN!!
Then she stomped out of the house and went to work.
Me: HUH??
WTF was that all about? I’m still lost on that one, but I suppose that’s not really the point either. Do I really have a point to this thread? Well, like every other thread I’ve ever started no, probably not.
So this is what my schedule will (hopefully) look like starting in a few days or whatever.
Wed. - Sun. 4-10pm (gas station) 12-8am (casino)
Mon. - Tues. OFF
I think I can do it. I don’t think I’m going to die. Well, I will someday, but not now, not next week, and not from having two jobs. I’m proud of myself. I’m doing what I need to do to afford the life that I want to have. I’m making an effort to get out of Minnesota, a thing I’ve wanted to do for a very long time. If this DOES kill me (which is a possibility so ridiculous that it actually makes me laugh), I’ll die with money in my pocket, knowing that I at least TRIED.
I’m talking to my casino supervisor tonight to try to get my schedule changed. I’ll hopefully start at the gas station on Wednesday. So… You’re proud of me, right? 