Gimme a break, gimme a break…

Well, here we are again. I’m sitting here with my coffee (which is getting cold at an alarming rate), reflecting on the sheer exhaustion that is my life right now. Seriously, who decided that working four jobs was a good idea? I mean, sure, I love my web development gig—it’s like a little slice of heaven where I can flex my coding muscles and feel like a wizard again. But then I’ve got this chicken kitchen job at the truck stop, which is about as exciting as watching paint dry. And let me tell you, standing over a fryer for hours on end is not my idea of a good time. It’s like my legs are plotting against me. They’re constantly sore, and I’m beginning to think they might unionize.

Oh, and then there’s the social media management gig. I swear, it drains the life out of me faster than a bad horror movie. It pays the bills, but at what cost, right? And let’s not even get started on my waitress job at the tiny country restaurant. Honestly, I’d rather dive headfirst into a vat of mashed potatoes than deal with some of the customers I’ve encountered there. You know the type—the ones who seem to think they’re the only people in the universe that matter. Yeah, those folks.

So, on a typical day, I’m clocking in around fifteen hours of work. I mean, let’s be real: living the dream, right? My only reprieve is Wednesdays, which is my one day off. But even then, it’s not really a day off. It’s more like a catch-up day for laundry, errands, dishes, and the occasional nap that I’m pretty sure is just a myth at this point.

And of course, I’m still walking everywhere. My truck is still sitting there, broken and untrustworthy. I’ve named it “The Paperweight.” Walking doesn’t bother me much; sometimes, I even enjoy it. I get to see the odd dog being walked or the neighbor’s cat giving me the side-eye. But it’s the time loss that gets me. Between shifts and the long walks, I barely have a second to breathe, let alone write or do anything remotely fun.

Family drama is lurking in the background like a bad sequel, too. My sister still hasn’t picked up her stuff from my place, and every time I bring it up, I get the same over-the-top reaction. It’s like a rerun of a show I didn’t want to watch in the first place. I’m starting to think going no-contact might be the solution, but living in a small town makes that a touch complicated. You can’t really just avoid someone when you see them three times a week at work.

But you know what? I’m surviving. Just barely. I keep telling myself that this chapter is about surviving long enough to build something better. Like, maybe getting more development work and reducing the jobs I hate? And perhaps someday fixing or replacing my truck. A girl can dream.

Anyway, I need to go figure out what’s for dinner. Spoiler alert: it’s probably going to be something simple because I can’t even deal with the thought of cooking anything fancy after today. My feet are staging a protest, and I’m pretty sure they’ve filed an HR complaint. Good times lol.