The Immigrant Nightmare
I don't know if I'll be able to keep on going. I feel trapped, in a cage, no where to turn around. I know it sounds dramatic, but that is how I feel.
I know I am an immigrant. IMMIGRANT. That means things are gonna be difficult and I don't know for how long.
I feel like I was running a marathon, a long and difficult one, in Death Valley in the summer. I don't know if I can make to the end. And it makes it even harder when your manager doesn't help you.
I am talking about my job. How much I hate it and how much I have to suck it in and shut up. I don't shut up completely: I tell my husband and family how much I hate it. But that is all.
I dread to go to work and everyday, EVERY DAY, I come back home angry, frustrated and depressed. I hate my job. I hate having to suck it up. I just came back from work now. You can tell.
Even when the day is not awful, every time I have to talk to my manager about something that is how it makes me feel: like shit. That is how it makes me feel. Yes, I AM angry and HIGHLY FRUSTRATED.
I gotta keep going. I gotta. You know those last miles, the most difficult ones, when you can barely breathe and don't feel your legs ok anymore and you think you'll have a heart attack if you take one more step? That is how I feel about going to my work. I look at the clock all the time. I dread for the moment of balancing my box and going away.
I feel like I'm drowing. I gotta learn to swim.
I must go back to school and I must learn something that will give me the chance to work in something more pleasant than what I do.
Every day. One more. Just one more day. Just one more hour. Break. A break in the nightmare, a short elevator ride out of hell. For 10 minutes, I search in my brain for a way to escape. Unsuccessfully, I take the ride down to hell and wait for my other break, lunch time. Then I have 1 whole hour to live and breathe and try to find a way out. Then back to hell. Even when I think it's gone, when I go home, it still lingers in me, the knowledge that I will have to be there tomorrow again. And one more day. And another day. And another. Feels like eternity.
Now I know what my Beta fish felt like when he died in pooey water (because I forgot to change the water for a week) : suffocated by shit and uncapable of running away. Poor Beta. I feel you now, buddy.
I know I am an immigrant. IMMIGRANT. That means things are gonna be difficult and I don't know for how long.
I feel like I was running a marathon, a long and difficult one, in Death Valley in the summer. I don't know if I can make to the end. And it makes it even harder when your manager doesn't help you.
I am talking about my job. How much I hate it and how much I have to suck it in and shut up. I don't shut up completely: I tell my husband and family how much I hate it. But that is all.
I dread to go to work and everyday, EVERY DAY, I come back home angry, frustrated and depressed. I hate my job. I hate having to suck it up. I just came back from work now. You can tell.
Even when the day is not awful, every time I have to talk to my manager about something that is how it makes me feel: like shit. That is how it makes me feel. Yes, I AM angry and HIGHLY FRUSTRATED.
I gotta keep going. I gotta. You know those last miles, the most difficult ones, when you can barely breathe and don't feel your legs ok anymore and you think you'll have a heart attack if you take one more step? That is how I feel about going to my work. I look at the clock all the time. I dread for the moment of balancing my box and going away.
I feel like I'm drowing. I gotta learn to swim.
I must go back to school and I must learn something that will give me the chance to work in something more pleasant than what I do.
Every day. One more. Just one more day. Just one more hour. Break. A break in the nightmare, a short elevator ride out of hell. For 10 minutes, I search in my brain for a way to escape. Unsuccessfully, I take the ride down to hell and wait for my other break, lunch time. Then I have 1 whole hour to live and breathe and try to find a way out. Then back to hell. Even when I think it's gone, when I go home, it still lingers in me, the knowledge that I will have to be there tomorrow again. And one more day. And another day. And another. Feels like eternity.
Now I know what my Beta fish felt like when he died in pooey water (because I forgot to change the water for a week) : suffocated by shit and uncapable of running away. Poor Beta. I feel you now, buddy.
posted by The Lady of the Lake at 6:09 PM
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