Day eight: running on fumes

Eight days seems like a lifetime when you’re not working.

It’s been eight days since I was sanctimoniously fired from my job of six-and-a-half years. Eight morning’s of wondering what I’m going to do with my life. Eight afternoon’s of anger, frustration and sadness, wondering what I’m going to do with my life. The most difficult to deal with of them all, eight night’s laying awake in bed wondering what it is I’m going to do with my life.

It’s safe to say that I’m not enjoying life right now.

Answering the phone seems to be an arduous task these days. Everyone has their opinions of what it is that I need to do next and everyone seems to believe they know what’s best. None of them seem to take into consideration what it is that I want.

Checking emails also seems to be a dreaded chore. When the subject line reads: “You’re 30 years old, get your life in order”, I can’t help but roll my eyes and leave it unread in my inbox.

I’m trying to figure my life out. But, as with all things in life, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Sometimes you have to go through struggle and sadness in order to determine what is really important. Sometimes it takes more than five days, six days, or eight days.

I guess I should be thankful. Actually, I am thankful. I am thankful that they care. I just wish that they would be a little more helpful and a little less anxiety-inducing in their caring. The death of a career, something you’ve seemingly spent you’re entire life working towards, it’s not an easy pill to swallow. I don’t have answers. I don’t have plans.

For now the plan is to keep everyone at bay. At least until I have more answers.

Currently feeling: whiny, sad, angry

-V

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