kevin was talking on the phone about going “on a mission” this friday - just gonna hang out with his friends, take some crown royal, and get twisted. I actually found myself extremely jealous of his ability to do that, of his choice to just let go and be wild and get shit-faced drunk. He asked me something else, and my voice broke. he asked what was wrong; and as I explained, the words tumbling out themselves, I said, “for the first time, I’m not happy with my life” and as I said it, i knew it was true. i’ve never been interested in drinking because my life was always wonderful as it was.. and now.. it’s not. now i understand the pull. i’ve never wanted an altered state of consciousness; now, i’m crying for it.

work is literally driving me to drink.

he said, “you mean you’re unhappy with your work, not your life.” I said “work IS life now, it’s 2/3 of my life.” he said, “isn’t the good part of your life enough to make up for it?” and i blurted, “not anymore!!” Not anymore. between sobs, i said, “it’s too much, and the good part isn’t enough. that’s why every night i cling to you and beg you to stay. because it’s not enough.”

every time i have to say goodbye to him, a small part of me screams and cries “NOO!” It feels unfair, it feels like I’m in high school. living apart isn’t right. i want him here when i get home and when i go to bed and when i wake up. i feel like i’m tumbling around at the end of my rope and he is the only one who can pull me in - and yet because we don’t live together, it’s simply impossible for him to do it as often as i need him to. my days are spent at a place that makes me ill, that makes me grit my teeth until my jaw hurts; and my evenings are spent alone with the dirty dishes watching crappy tv. it’s not enough, no, not when i’m so stressed every cell in my body is straining with the effort of being civil, of not crying. and not when now i have to strain even further so that I can smile, too.

because i was told today that i have an attitude problem. one which, although i do all of the work I am given and then some, somehow affects my performance so much that while many others are giving 130%, I am only giving 70%. The dam broke; I, in the stellar tradition of stupid, useless, ‘hysterical' women everywhere, through waves of tears, explained how i’d never been so stressed in all my life; that i am tired because they changed my hours; that i hate the clerical stuff; that everyone’s mood is down and i can’t be chipper in the midst of that; that them telling me repeatedly to “stop laughing and be productive” was not a smile-inducer; that I feel i'm doing all the crap jobs nobody wants; that they don't trust us (he said he doesn't); and that I was of the attitude that i'm paid to do what i'm told, so I do it, but i don't have to like it.

apparently, now I have to like it.

i don’t know where to go from here.