||[Jun. 2nd, 2013|04:13 pm]
|||||Fulsom Prison Blues, Johnny Cash||]|
I'm employed! Another week or so will make it three months. I work in maintenance at a hotel downtown. I got hired as extra labor to replaced the hotel's aging, decrepit pneumatic HVAC controls with digital ones, but have the times some emergency or another pulls me off that project. Or a supervisor assigns me to do routine preventative maintenance that pretty much anyone could do instead. I also got drafted to enter purchase orders into the poorly tested, rickety accounting software and since you need a purchase order before you can order anything, it saves people effort to have me order it for them. Ah, but I need a firm price on something before I can get a PO approved, so I have to get quotes as well, taking up even more of the time I'm supposed to spend on retrofit operations.
The money's good, though. The pay is very similar to the one other job I had, but that job was very strictly part time, so I have drastically more money on hand. It's very strange transitioning from a mindset where I didn't know where more money would come from, so every dollar was precious. Now, cash is coming out of my ears. My parents don't charge me for rent or food so really the only thing to do is sock it away for future automotive expenses and rent.
Because holy hell, I'm moving out of my parents' house. There's no question. It's going to be painful to get past the wall of guilt trips my mom will put out, but I have to. Earning this much money just underscores to me how little autonomy my parents expect me to have. My mom would be thrilled to death to have a human dress-up dolly to exactly fit her expectations or a robot maid to faithfully carry out her wishes. She is so totally assured of how <I>right</I> she is that in the long run, you have to save effort by letting her have her way.
I need to make appointments with the therapist and psychiatrist, but I keep putting it off. It's not good. I feel so down some days, like today. Last weekend, I tried to find someone to hang out with, but out of all my friends, all of them had their own shit going on and couldn't make room for me. It's always a punch in the gut when my plans fall through. It's probably because I'm using friends as an antidepressant, to distract me from the hollow, crushing despair. The anticipation lets me fool myself into forgetting my troubles, but when it doesn't work out, the bare reality is all that's left. The reality is that I'm not okay. I've been not okay for a long time and I'm not going to get better on my own. I need help.