(This post was originally written on 750words.com. It has been edited.)
It’s already after 8, so I suppose I should start writing. Oh my God, this is my last day of work. Tomorrow I am free! (Then I work again on Tuesday, but it seems like I have the whole weekend off? I’m not sure.) But this is already 5 days, six, really because that was the first day I came into the store and had to stay for at least an hour and a half. It’ll be so nice not to have to come home and keep freaking out about things. Because this business is so dependent on customer satisfaction, and we get the brunt of it so much more than a regular retail business because we are the actual craftspeople, it’s hard. You feel it that much harder when they are unhappy. I don’t know about the other ladies, but I worry. It’s a pit in the bottom of my stomach.
But I think it might work out. I’m already feeling more comfortable. I’m already picking things up, and my sewing is getting better. So it’s working. I’m not freaking out. And, wow, it pays well. Better than any other job I might have found, really. If I were working regular retail or fast food, I wouldn’t be getting double digits per hour. So that’s good, too.
The only problem, and it’s a big one, is that it takes up so much of my time. I barely have the energy to come home and catch up on the internet. That’s taking me longer than it normally would, and I’ve cut way back on the regular internet things I check. I haven’t had time to take a real look at etsy or The General lately. There’s probably more I could be doing. I don’t remember the last time I posted something, even a reblog, on factsarenothing. I’m caught up on Tumblr, but not back into the regular swing of Tumblr. Mostly, I’m sleeping, but not enough, eating, but not well, working, but getting paid, reading, which is the only time for me, and not writing, which hurts the most. I haven’t even had the time to daydream write.
All the notes I’ve written in my book this last week have been about the job or Leaves of Grass. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be working on. I know there is a story due August 31st, I just don’t know which one. I should be thinking about that. Maybe I’ll try to do that today at lunch, rather than read. I think I’m going to need to start a bigger notebook again. My tiny, literally, note book isn’t going to cut it if I want to do real writing. I love my SFU folder, but I can’t carry it around with me, plus water bottle, plus lunch, plus book. I’m still going to bring Leaves of Grass, but I want to try to write during my break. Half an hour that barely feels like half an hour. I wonder if that’s because I spend it in the food court. I only got half an hour at PCL, but it always felt longer. Sometimes I was mostly alone in the break room, with the TV or the option to turn the TV off, which was always the best. But my one half hour break during an eight hour day in the mall doesn’t feel very long. The funny thing is, though, I don’t feel like I need a lot of breaks. I don’t feel like the day is dragging because there is always something to do. In fact, mostly it feels like there’s never enough time. I’m really surprised they don’t have someone work a few hours before or after opening or closing, just to power through some sewing. Get it done during the night. It’s a constant balance between customers yesterday and customers today and how much time we have to get it done.
Look at that. I was writing about writing, and it turned into my job again. Stop that. I want to think about writing. I want to actually write, is what I want. Why is it so hard? I can’t even believe that this has been my whole life I’ve been trying, and it’s still this hard. It never gets easier, does it? I don’t have a writer’s block problem. I’ve claimed to, but I never really have had that kind of problem. My kind of problem is practical, not theoretical. In fact, all my problems are practical, not theoretical. I can see in my head how a story works, how a job works, how a relationship works, but I can’t make them work outside my own daydreams.