I’m having one of those weeks where it feels like nothing is going right. This feeling culminated with the big mistake I made yesterday. I was supposed to go to an interview at the hospice to which I applied to volunteer. It was written correctly on my day planner as 4pm Wed. February 27th, but for some reason beyond my comprehension, when I looked at the calendar this week, I thought the appointment was on THURSDAY. So, of course, I’m plugging away at work at 4:30 and my phone rings. Only I don’t pick it up because the caller ID says “RESTRICTED.”
I break here to explain that I don’t answer my phone if I don’t recognize the number–I have this weird fear of talking to people on the phone who I don’t know. To call a stranger, I usually have to prepare myself for the call by practicing what I will say when they answer, anticipating all the questions they might ask and thinking through my possible responses. So, naturally, I don’t answer the phone if I don’t recognize the caller ID because I haven’t had time to prepare myself to respond to the person and it makes me incredibly nervous. Can you believe I actually worked on telephone support for a software company once? Let’s just say that it definitely did NOT cure my fear of talking to that unseen stranger.
It’s dysfunctional and stupid, I know. What’s less imposing than someone on a phone? You can just hang up on them if they are being rude, right? Well, for some reason or another, I’m more afraid of people I can’t see.
Anyway, I let the call rollover into voice mail. A minute later, the voice mail tone alerted me that there was a message, so I dialed in to listen. It was the lady with whom I was supposed to have that interview. Doh! She’s calling to ask where I’m at and hoping that I’m on the way. Here’s the hitch: I can’t call her back because the hospice rolls their calls to an answering service after four. I tried anyway and she was right; I couldn’t get through.
The feeling of panic that washed over me when I realized that I had the date mixed up and I was missing the interview I was supposed to be at…. I usually don’t get over-worried and stressed about these kind of things, but this time, we’re talking about my possible future–the career path that may be, for the first time in my life, the one that fits and fulfills me. I could have potentially blown the one opportunity that I was looking forward to beginning all year. It’s a volunteer position, but they have all this rigamarole and hoops to jump through to get there. I respect that because, as much as you need volunteers, you probably don’t want just anybody volunteering at a hospice. I’m pretty sure they want to make sure you’re serious. After this interview, should I have made a great impression (as I was planning), I would have been invited to a week long training in April.
I felt like I was going to get sick to my stomach. I know that I can probably get her to reschedule, but this sure looks like I’m an irresponsible heel. Sure, people make mistakes and mix things up; however, this would certainly be a mark against me in a real job interview. I want to be the best volunteer I can be. I don’t want to be known as the volunteer who is not reliable because she misses appointments or shows up late. This position is very important to me because I was going to use it to determine if I could handle working in grief situations (not to mention the fact that I would just like to feel like I’m somehow helping someone in something that is to me vitally important).
I tried to call this morning at 8am, but the answering service picked up the call again. Apparently, the hospice is having a meeting this morning and they won’t be answering their phones until 10. Another couple of hours within which I can beat myself over the head for my complete stupidity. At least I will have a well-practiced monologue for this phone conversation…
Other than that, I’ve just been feeling plain depressed all week. And restless. I’ve accomplished nothing in the evenings after work and I’ve only worked out once. I feel trapped in my career. If I can’t start my counseling venture immediately (and I can’t because I don’t even know yet if my desire to be a counselor is more than a passing flare of an idea), I sure wish I could apply my creative skills for a job somewhere. Creative jobs don’t pay much, though, and I’m quite used to my lifestyle. I’ve always thought I could do marketing, but those jobs are pretty much awarded from the “bottom up,” meaning that you have to collect the trash for a marketing firm for several years before making it up to making small beans with the actual concept people.
I’d write novels, but my 9-5er and 1+ hour commute each way situation doesn’t afford me the energy and time to attempt one. Besides that, I couldn’t handle all the rejection. (I get depressed when no one posts comments to my blog. Narcissist, I told you.)
Sometimes it seems too painful to dream… The more you dream, the more frustrated you become when things just don’t work out the way you planned. I wish I was like my grandma H who, when she encountered those nasty turns in the road of life, managed to navigate them and still found something positive to say about the experience. I think she passed this trait onto my mom. It’s probably my self-centered view of life, but I always feel like my sharp curves were tougher than theirs. I guess you don’t gain anything by trying to measure your problems with someone else’s. When you’re feeling gloomy, it’s so easy to do that, though.
I wish I could get myself to exercise regularly. This is obviously no problem for me during bike season. In the winter I like to ski, but I can’t afford to use that as regular exercise (unless I “lower” myself to getting a season pass at Boston Mills/Brandywine). I do like to walk, but I’m of the philosophy of “no pain, no gain.” Walking is too easy and cannot possibly help me lose weight (go ahead, everyone, and send me news items and research studies that prove it does). I need to sweat. I’m such a freak about cardio that when I used to do yoga once a week at my gym, I would run for a half hour before the class because I felt I wasn’t going to get any “real” exercise that night. Those of you who have done yoga probably can guess how I would feel by the end of the night…
Stationary equipment just makes me annoyed. I thought it would be easier to entice myself to work out at home with a trainer because it was at my house and did not involve the hassle of packing up clothes and such for the gym. I could exercise any time with it at my house–10pm if I wanted. Ha. Well, I’ve still managed to bail quite consistently. I’m full of excuses:
I’ll do it tomorrow morning. I’m not a morning person. I have a morning commute of about an hour to Highland Heights. Though I set my alarm for 5:30am, I mostly hit snooze until 6am no matter how hard I try. That doesn’t leave me much time to exercise, shower, and style my hair to get to work by 8:30.
I’m hungry. I’ll do it after I eat. Um… cardio is not that pleasant on a full stomach.
I’ve got too much to do. In a house constantly in a state of remodel, I always have too much to do. I’ve gotta learn to just let that go and exercise, and then worry about the details later. Anyway, despite having too much to do, I usually end up goofing off on the internet or watching TV anyway. And it’s not like I can’t work out while watching TV.
I’ve actually found that I can tolerate using the trainer if I pop in a DVD. I started watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on Tuesday when I worked out. That really worked great. I was going to watch Tuesday’s DVRed episode of Jericho yesterday while working out, but I was hungry when I got home, so I watched it while eating. I have two episodes of Big Brother to watch. The only problem with watching shows I’ve recorded on my DVR is that I have to fast-forward the commercials, and there’s nowhere to put my remote on my bike (where it will stay, anyway).
I also need to get some kind of equipment for working out my muscles. Okay, to be honest, all I really want to do is crunch my abdomen about fifty-six different ways to get ride of that stupid fat roll at my waist. I wouldn’t give a damn what my weight was if that thing were gone. Michael’s been trying to talk me into getting a Total Gym. I worked out on his and it was pretty cool (my abdomen hurt for two days afterwards). If my basement were finished right now, I’d be more inclined to buy one. The only thing I worry about, though, is that once I have all this exercise equipment in my house, I really won’t work out. But I am tempted when I think about all the gym fees I won’t have to pay if I can do it at home. No muscle heads around to watch me do my wimpy lateral pulls at 20lbs.
My coming trip to Colorado, although short, is much needed. I hope to catch up with a few friends while I’m out there. For some reason, I’m completely obsessed with driving the car myself all weekend. I have this vision in my head of how it used to be, that feeling of complete contentment as I viewed the impossibly brilliant scenery through the windows of my car. I used to drive every morning from my suburban town north of Denver to Boulder (sometimes I rode my bike). Driving to Boulder, you are looking straight at the Flat Irons. I knew those peaks not by name but how they looked each season. I knew every crease in their jutting rocky surface. There is not a day that went by where I was too acclimated to Colorado life to not notice the beauty of the world in which I was immersed. I wonder how many years you’d have to live there to become immune to that landscape. It can’t be possible.
Ohio has its moments, though. We’ve been hit with snow for the last couple days and I can’t help but notice each branch on the trees that line the roads on my morning commute; each branch is highlighted icy white. Piles of snow everywhere, streets carved through it. There’s a beauty there too.
At least I’m not too depressed that I don’t notice these moments in nature. Then I come through the doors of the place where I work and my mind goes numb as I struggle to motivate myself to concentrate on the task at hand.