Yesterday I left work an hour and a half before my shift ended because I was sick.  Vomiting and other “stomach problems” that, for the happiness and well-being of the blogosphere, I won’t disclose.  Funnily enough, I felt quite a bit better once I’d been home for a few hours.  And of course, this morning when 5:00 rolled around, I felt sick again.  So I did what I shouldn’t have done — I called in.

So basically, right now, my job makes me sick.  I don’t believe I have a “bug” or “stomach flu” or whatever, because the symptoms reduce dramatically when I am not at work.  Probably I would do better on second shift.  On second shift, I wouldn’t have to be there at 6 am, which is a horrible time of day.  There wouldn’t be the morning rush or the lunch rush.  I wouldn’t walk into a store crammed with boxes of products that needed to be entered into inventory, priced, and shelved.  I would still have to take out 15 oversized bags of trash and sweep the parking lot, but I could do it after dark.

I had pretty much decided today, after making the kiddo Egg-in-a-Hole for breakfast, that I didn’t want to go back.  Like for real.

And then a strange thing happened.  My phone started ringing.  I have an interview this afternoon with an agency that places administrative professionals in the legal field, and one with a regular agency tomorrow.   I can see some light at the end of my tunnel.

I haven’t officially quit the gas station.  I am expected to be there tomorrow for some additional training, and I haven’t decided whether I am going or not.   I feel really bad about ending it this way, so quickly, because I really like the people who own the store and (some of) the people I work with.  Logistically, the job works out well because it’s near my house and I could theoretically get rides or be dropped off, so I’m not required to have my own vehicle (which I don’t anymore).  But my feet still hurt from yesterday’s abbreviated shift, my back never stops hurting, and I end up in the bathroom for one hell of an unpleasant bathroom break at LEAST once per hour when I am there.

I feel like a failure.  Every day when I get home, I feel like quitting, but I usually muster up the determination by the time my next shift starts.  That isn’t happening anymore.  I’d quit in a heartbeat if I were sure that either of these interviews would lead to solid employment, but if I’ve learned anything in the last several months, it’s that interviews — especially interviews with agencies — don’t mean shit.

Nonetheless, my hot rollers are heating and my slacks are tumbling around in the dryer.

I have to admit that I have been feeling flashes of hatred lately that are pretty uncharacteristic of me.  Of our customers, I feel a special kind of hatred for those who walk in wearing suits and talking on cell phones.  Rage bubbles up into my throat when I drive by restaurants, movie theatres, and stores.  I am even angry at the man, because he makes more on unemployment than I do working my ass off full-time.

It’s really not like me to hate others for what they have, and to hate institutions that I can’t afford.  I’ve always been hopeful and… I feel that draining out of me a little more every day.  A lot more, some days.  I’m starting to hate mySELF.