I started a new job last Tuesday. Yes, another one. My previous job, which I left last Monday, was a seven month stint as a housekeeper, and marked the longest I’ve held down a job since Collins closed. So, in the last sixteen months, I have had five jobs. That’s a pretty crap statistic, but there is a reason for it. I’ve been unemployed for months at a time while looking for a job and usually jump(ed) on the first one offered, out of sheer desperation. It’s only after accepting each job that I realised a) the hours I was given were much less than I was originally offered, b) the people I was working for/with were actually total jerks that made my life miserable and/or c) the job was just plain awful.
The job I have just started is a return to retail, working in a little shop that does shoe and watch repairs, key cutting and engraving. Thus far, it seems pretty good. The hours are consistent, I’m learning new skills and the people I work with are pretty decent chaps. My boss, despite his questionable taste in films and television, is a rad dude who, to his credit, is exceedingly patient with my errant stupidity and inability to remember simple things. So all in all, the change in jobs was a positive thing.
The problem is that despite all the positives, I find myself still looking for a second job. Just yesterday I had an interview for a job as a trainee dental assistant (something I’ve been interested in for a while) and already I’m hoping I get it. And thus, I’ve come to realise that my fear of commitment extends beyond relationships, and into other aspects of my life. I can’t commit to people, to jobs, to plans…I’m a flake! This unpleasant character flaw is going to get me into trouble one of these days, I fear. Admittedly, part of it is that I’m still holding out hope that I’ll win the lottery and can open my own bookshop. But on a more realistic note, I just know that the jobs I’ve had don’t come close to being what I want to do. I’m sick of working for other people and companies. I’m sick of working in just another job, instead of putting my time and effort into something I love.
And yet, therein lies the problem. I am inherently lazy. Appallingly so, in fact. I spend my days off doing housework, running errands, catching up on things and getting shit done. But when it comes to actually doing something to improve my financial situation and my outlook on life (which is to say, finishing my fucking book!), I seem to just keep putting it off, constantly. I can’t get my act together and it’s entirely my own fault. My life is an endless cycle of malcontent and laziness. I’m bitter with myself for not being motivated, and yet do nothing to change it. Someone, slap me! Maybe if you hit me hard enough, I may just wake up with a brilliant mind (no seriously, that’s a thing.)
For now, I’m happy in the knowledge that I’m at least earning an income. But with that in mind, I am now off to crack open my laptop and hope inspiration hits me like a steam train.