I’m notoriously bad at maintaining this blog. I guess I want my entries to all be meaningful, but my life isn’t Bones or The Blacklist. I don’t have some startling new revelation once a week for half the year (and reruns in syndication).
I have this tendency in other areas too, that if something isn’t perfect it’s not worth finishing. Even when no one else might notice the flaws. I also want writing this to be fun, but the weight of perceived imperfection weighs on me so that it becomes a chore. I’m not always witty or clever. I won’t always write something life-changing.
But I want to do this, and even feel a need. Because it’s important to check in with myself, to keep track of my thoughts and emotions, because Depression clings to me like I cling on to life.
So here I am. My week was not the best. I’m painting the boys’ bathrooms at one of the high schools, which the upstairs ones need as they’re the old color scheme. But the downstairs were painted a year ago and most of the problems I’ve been able to take care of by cleaning. And what, you ask, is this miracle cleaning product that is able to remove most of these messes?
Yeah. I’m using a wet rag to clean the walls. Now, I admit that I’ve never received any formal training in janitorial work. I don’t know the proper ratios for mixing cleansers, I don’t know the proper techniques for using and maintaining floor scrubbers, I’ve certainly never applied a fresh coat of wax to a gymnasium floor. But maybe, just maybe, rather than asking for a new coat of paint every year, you teach your custodians to use a wet rag?
But here’s the real pisser. I applied for a position in the Safety Shop, where I would work full-time with the fire and security systems. The foreman really wanted me to apply and talked me up for the position. They were even going as far as talking about paying for my training for the low-voltage license. My interview went well, but they went with someone with more experience.
So now I’m stuck with that. I’m still working with them in my ancillary position at night and I can’t fault them for choosing a more qualified candidate over me, but I still feel a sense of betrayal. And when the new guy shows up I get to just pretend that everything’s cool and hide any resentment I feel for his getting the job that I wanted.
Being a grownup sucks.