In other ways, I'm finding things very... uncomfortable. And confronting. I work 3 days a week. 25 hours a week. Each day I work 7:50am to 5:20pm. My job is a really big part of my life. And I hate it. And I drink (and to a lesser degree, eat sugar) to escape how much I hate my job.
I don't work for a bit of "pocket money", or for cream on the top. I earn almost 50% of our family income. My husband is a wonderful man who works really hard in his job as well as at home. But he is unskilled and doesn't earn a great deal of money. I've been in my professional role for 7 years, since finishing my degree. For my 3 days of work I am paid higher than the average full time salary.
Even so, we live pay to pay. Some poor decisions many years ago, when we were young and childless and irresponsible, has left us with a mountain of debt. I have not had a haircut in nearly 2 years. I dye my own hair out of a box from the shop. I don't buy new clothes for myself, unless I am given gift vouchers. I frequent Op Shops (or Thrift Shops), I accept hand-me-downs from friends (for myself as well as my kids), my boys wear second hand clothes. I grocery shop through a co-op, at markets. I use the cheapest cosmetics I can find, I don't get manicures or pedicures, we don't eat out, I shave rather than wax for personal grooming, I clipper my husband's and boys hair myself and I barter favours and what not with a friend for eyebrow waxes. We have chickens and ducks for eggs and grow as much fresh produce as we can. Mick makes and sells bird traps locally for a bit of extra pocket money, he brews spirits to save the money we would spent at the bottle shop (not exactly helpful when trying to avoid alcohol!) and I make my own butter, sauces, condiments, everything.
And you know, we are ok. We are paying off the debt, we aren't racking up any more (other than recently getting solar, which will save us money in the long run), the kids are fed and have shoes on their feet, and we are mostly pretty happy. But there's that little thing, that minute detail which now, without the alcohol to wash it down, and wash it away, is becoming an enormous pink elephant in the room: I HATE MY JOB.
And as you can see by what is written above, I can't just up & leave to "follow my dreams". And I don't even know what that means, to follow my dreams. I have pushed them & squashed them and washed them down with shot after shot of home made scotch whisky that I don't even know what my dreams are. I have no idea what I'd like to be when I grow up.
And the whole thing makes me feel like pouring a big fat scotch and forgetting about it. Because there really is not a lot that I can do.
But instead, I will pour another tea, and continue my pondering and reflecting for the month. Who knows what I will come up with in the next 21 days?
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