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dragonlady7Was just getting over my last devastatingly unpleasant chest cold when walloped, day before yesterday, abruptly with another horrifying mess of chest cold. This one has kept me up all one night, and is accompanied, identically to the last one, by enormous amounts of sinus goo, though not total congestion. I'm a bit worried because I thought viruses kinda progressed; this feels like precisely two weeks ago when I had the exact same symptoms. So perhaps it's an infection? I don't know. I'd decided against going to the doctor because it was similar to what everyone around me had had, and they'd all been diagnosed with the ever-present "something viral". So what's the point of going and exposing myself to further germs, dropping a $20 co-pay, squandering several of my precious few free hours, and basically either being told to buck up or being given antibiotic placebos?
There's no point.
Except that whatever it is, is on repeat. Which I dislike. I'm coughing to the point of near-vomiting multiple times a day. It's just exhausting. So I dunno.
Work continues apace: I hate retail at Christmas. I hate retail more when short-staffed at Christmas. We have hired no additional help for the holiday season; we barely had adequate coverage for the sales floor for a normal season, and now that it's busy constantly, our level of staffing is totally inadequate. We've all been sick; those of us who are students also have final exams and projects due, and are dangerously exhausted. No one can have a day off, and if anyone takes a sick day the rest of us are screwed. Yesterday I sold about twelve cameras in nine hours, and also printed several thousand holiday cards. We ran out of envelopes for a fifth time. It's been wearing. I wasn't the target of any freakouts from customers, but that doesn't mean there weren't any.
We were short-staffed last year at Christmas. We'll surely be short-staffed next year at Christmas. There's no help and no relief and no nothing. I'm just hanging on for it to be January and really really slow and maybe then I'll get to screw around enough to make up for all the mandatory unpaid breaks I haven't gotten to take in two months. (They dock me half an hour a day. I average about five minutes if you add up all the time I spend on the toilet, which is the only place I can sit, so I go more often than I strictly need to. Yes honestly.)
So I'm tired, and I'm feeling like my life consists of sleeping, eating, skating, and working working working. My little free time has all been frittered away by continuing the writing I started for NaNoWriMo.
I was thinking about writing. They say some people should really just write for their own enjoyment. I don't know how to make Barbarians-Novel, which grew to at least two books over NaNo (I mean two major timelines popped up, so I have to divide them), published-novel-shaped. Maybe I should resign myself to never being a publishable author-- there's no money in it anyway-- and just put up a website and publish this thing in serial form. I could probably get an audience for it. It's the only way I'm ever likely to have it read. Then I could stop tormenting myself over how to cut out 75,000 words out of Part A and still keep any of the bits I like, and just roll with it-- so it's a 300,000-word epic, people write those in fanfic all the time and get a loyal following of dozens. I could do that. Then maybe I could feel less bad about the fact that I'm going to work retail all my life because I'm useless at everything else.
Not to sound downtrodden, but I am a bit. It's exhausting, but if only I could breathe I flatter myself I'd be fine.
There's no point.
Except that whatever it is, is on repeat. Which I dislike. I'm coughing to the point of near-vomiting multiple times a day. It's just exhausting. So I dunno.
Work continues apace: I hate retail at Christmas. I hate retail more when short-staffed at Christmas. We have hired no additional help for the holiday season; we barely had adequate coverage for the sales floor for a normal season, and now that it's busy constantly, our level of staffing is totally inadequate. We've all been sick; those of us who are students also have final exams and projects due, and are dangerously exhausted. No one can have a day off, and if anyone takes a sick day the rest of us are screwed. Yesterday I sold about twelve cameras in nine hours, and also printed several thousand holiday cards. We ran out of envelopes for a fifth time. It's been wearing. I wasn't the target of any freakouts from customers, but that doesn't mean there weren't any.
We were short-staffed last year at Christmas. We'll surely be short-staffed next year at Christmas. There's no help and no relief and no nothing. I'm just hanging on for it to be January and really really slow and maybe then I'll get to screw around enough to make up for all the mandatory unpaid breaks I haven't gotten to take in two months. (They dock me half an hour a day. I average about five minutes if you add up all the time I spend on the toilet, which is the only place I can sit, so I go more often than I strictly need to. Yes honestly.)
So I'm tired, and I'm feeling like my life consists of sleeping, eating, skating, and working working working. My little free time has all been frittered away by continuing the writing I started for NaNoWriMo.
I was thinking about writing. They say some people should really just write for their own enjoyment. I don't know how to make Barbarians-Novel, which grew to at least two books over NaNo (I mean two major timelines popped up, so I have to divide them), published-novel-shaped. Maybe I should resign myself to never being a publishable author-- there's no money in it anyway-- and just put up a website and publish this thing in serial form. I could probably get an audience for it. It's the only way I'm ever likely to have it read. Then I could stop tormenting myself over how to cut out 75,000 words out of Part A and still keep any of the bits I like, and just roll with it-- so it's a 300,000-word epic, people write those in fanfic all the time and get a loyal following of dozens. I could do that. Then maybe I could feel less bad about the fact that I'm going to work retail all my life because I'm useless at everything else.
Not to sound downtrodden, but I am a bit. It's exhausting, but if only I could breathe I flatter myself I'd be fine.
