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It’s work, she said

You’ll always have to do more than others – be prettier, be flirtier, be more daring….it’s work, hard work but you can do it.

I had been complaining about just everything. I hate facebook, why do I have to use it….I’m tired and worn out, why do I have to rally my forces again to be witty and charming…..I’m overaccustomed to transactional interactions, I don’t get breaks, I have to deal with the collective BS of a large volume of people with literally no authority to enforce rules, regs that need enforcing….I have no time for original thoughts, creativity, etc. And when I do who wants to see it? Who cares?

In other words, fatigue and impostor syndrome.

Explanation:

I work a job where I cover a lot more than is normal. But that in itself is normal. I don’t resent it, in fact I rather like it, but it is a huge chunk of my time on a daily basis. Given my personality, I do tend to overwork, but I have a system of controls in place (mental, physical habits) that help me counterbalance that. However, me “working less” looks like most people’s “insanely busy”. This leads to something I fear – others perceiving me as living for my job.

I actually don’t. I like it (mostly), I protect it because it’s a good thing. And let’s face it, one needs a good, steady well-paying job. I don’t want to go back to sweating the rent despite working 6 days a week. I’ll be 36 in January – I can’t live like that again. So I have my position at [lol, REDACTED]. It comes with a fancy title, [lol, also REDACTED] and a pretty nice office (not redacted, I love my office). Buuuuuuuuuuut I think people assume that I’m living for that, that they stay away because I’m “too busy”. I am busy, but I make time for the people and things that matter. I just don’t sit by the phone, so to speak.

This can cause me to feel like an admin goblin. I spend so much of my waking hours and energy dealing with [NOPE], [NUH-UH], and [YEAH, NO] that I often am worn out on a week night. I don’t like that – I don’t like that work/home/food/sleep/work routine but sometimes it does happen. There are so many evenings I come home and don’t write, create, or anything because I am on empty in ways I don’t want to describe because that makes it worse.

I also don’t take a lot of social media with me. This compounds the problem. Just because I’m not active on FB (and it’s still all about FB, itsn’t it?) doesn’t mean I’m antisocial.

FB is not on my phone because a) it monitors me enough, thank you and b) it will suck up work contacts from my phone. I have a strict “don’t look for me and I won’t look for you” policy with work peeps because the minute I follow one, it’s just a matter of time before someone in corporate is creeping around my selfies and spinning posts, trying to catch me in….well, something. Whatever corporate types fear we do on social media.

I hate to go Full Mulder, but you have to be a fool to think that bosses or their bosses aren’t sniffing around social media presences. This is the main reason I don’t like to mix Office Me with Real Life Me. So no FB on my phone. This probably leads regular-life people to conclude I am a forest hermit.

Sidebar:

This sounds so defensive and I really don’t mean it to be. I’m explaining myself but also hey, words keep coming so I’m gonna keep rolling.

Aside from all that, there’s my eternal worry that I’m tiresome, inappropriate, unwelcome, etc. And it’s partner worry, that I am not nearly as original as I think I am, so who wants to hear/see me. Why would anyone bother, I think. I’m boring, I think. I’m not that creative, I think. I’m not attractive, I think. People do not really want to be around me, I think. They’re lying. I always think, on some level, they’re lying.

Really, I should have gone into acting, because I’d feel SO much more comfortable adopting another persona, because then I’d know that it’s that face that gets interaction, regard, attraction. I’d be ok on a stage. I’d be ok in a costume. I’d be able to have a boundary between the public and the private – the fantasy and the real. That’s the experiment, my real self is the control group, and I could get an accurate measure of who actually knows me, likes me, dislikes me. I could tease apart the me’s and analyze properly. To do otherwise requires trust and yeah, no.

No trust please, we’re anxious.

So I don’t know where this leaves me. I guess it means I have to do more, always do more, to combat that weird conviction explained above. It’s work, like she said, but I can do it.

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