It’s almost ten. We’re knee-deep into our penultimate dress rehearsal for Shrek. Tomorrow I start my new position, 9-5 at the central hub for our funeral homes. I’m nervous.
I spent the first week of the month there, so I’m passing familiar with the location of everything, the accelerated duties (mostly the same as my own, just a lot more), and the maniacal whims of the location manager, AKA the head honcho. My office shares a wall with his. Goodbye slow days where I can blog and edit my manuscript. Hello 4 day work week!
The head honcho says he wants me to stay at 30 hours, 9-5 four days a week. I’m trying to parlay this into having Friday off: with the show starting Thursday I need any time off I can finagle. I may not be able to this week, being a ‘new’ member of the team. Maybe he’ll want to train me. Maybe he’ll want me to take Mondays off instead. I hope not: Mondays are his day off. If I work when I want, I’ll only have three days a week with him.
I don’t like change, but I feel better about this one than most. I think it’ll eventually lead into me working 9-5 5 days a week: a real full time job! One that I pay taxes on, and get overtime for (God willing), and health insurance! I’ll finally have a real, adult job that I got all by myself. No owners that are Dad’s old cronies, no getting paid under the table, nothing. A real, legal full time job.
Stability. That’s what I want out of life. Financial stability. Job stability. Enough money to move into an apartment with Bahamute. Stop living with my Mother. Save for the future. Think about (a few years down the line!) having kids.
This could be the first step.
I’m a hard worker, especially when I’m watched. Everyone complimented my work the week I was at White Lake: even the head honcho who called me on the mistakes I made (fair enough) and gave me shit for not knowing things (not fair in the least, but not special to me). This will be good for my productivity to say the least. Not that I won’t tote Tyrion and a book with me. I’ve been burned too many times in the past. Even on the busiest of days there are periods of nothingness.
In a song and a half it’s back onstage, then ending notes, then home, shower, lay out clothes and pack show necessities for tomorrow. Dinner on the road. Wet hair in the bed. Angry cat stepping on my face because she’s getting less than the required amount of cuddling. Life.
Tonight I’ll sleep next to my husband, aching and mentally exhausted. Tomorrow will be worse, and if Friday is a workday it’ll be a nightmare. But soon I’ll settle into my new routine. Soon. Just not soon enough.
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