homesick and drowning in work (nyc day 15)
Work started today with an 8AM meeting to figure out what we have left to finish before next week. There's still so much more to do... I feel like I'm fighting the Hydra; for each task I complete, two more pop up to take its place. I don't understand where my boss gets the energy to tirelessly prod me in my back to get me to work ever faster.
As the deadline draws closer, the frustration in his voice grows palpable. Every time I ask him a question he takes it as a personal affront, as if it's my fault I don't know things that have never been taught to me. This is a phenomenon I've observed a lot in this company: most people will help you (if you bother them enough times), but some (unfortunately usually the ones with the most power and knowledge) will make you feel so awful and stupid in the process that you never want to go to them for help anymore. And it's a vicious cycle: I get stuck, I don't ask questions because I don't want to feel like shit, I fall behind. Then the next time we sync he makes me feel even shittier for being behind and the cycle continues, like clockwork.
I take cold showers every day, and the moment the cold water touches my skin I can feel the air being sucked out of my lungs, no matter how deeply I try to breathe. And for a few minutes, as my body adjusts, I never feel like there's enough air in my lungs. But I like cold showers because eventually you get used to it, and you can turn off the water and step out of the bathtub and feel great afterwards that you faced discomfort and conquered it, even if only for a few minutes a day. Work gives me that same drowning sensation, except I can't turn off the water or get out of the shower to make it stop.
I hate how we have to act civilly, too. Every Monday we have to do the So How Was Your Weekend dance, where we pretend to care about each other's lives for all of ten minutes. It would be a lot easier for me if we just dropped that farce and admitted the truth. Like, seriously—who are we fooling here? I know he doesn't care about anything other than how much work I can get done. Sometimes, on the umpteenth lunch listening to them complain about how the weather stops them from taking their boats out, I wonder if I have a future in acting, or at least improv. If I can keep my face expressionless through all that, what can't I do?
Other times, though, I feel like I must be the worst actor in the world, because I look around the office and everyone else seems to carry on with their day as if nothing were wrong. Does no one else feel like I do, dying inside, on the brink of going mad, fighting the urge to scream and cry and walk out and leave it all behind? And to think they've been doing it day in, day out for far longer than I have...
For the first time in a long time, I feel a twinge of homesickness. Yes, for the house where my parents live, but more than that, I yearn for a home without an address: the safety & peace I used to feel (sometimes a person, sometimes a place) when I had less to trouble me.
I've been listening to Transatlántico by Daniela Spalla a lot recently, and man, there are no words to express how much I love this song:
Dime cómo quieres hacer
Tell me how you want to do it
¿Cómo piensas matar lo que vivimos
How do you want to kill what we lived
Con piedad o a quemarropa?
With mercy or at point blank range?
Ven y dime si es normal para ti
Come and tell me if this is normal for you
Protegerte lanzando bomba de humo
To protect yourself throwing smoke bombs
Cuando el corazón te explota
When your heart explodes
Creo que estás cubriéndote demás
I think you're covering yourself too much
Y quieres reducir a un simple sueño
And you want to reduce to a simple dream
Este sentimiento inmenso
This immense feeling
Creo que estás frenándote demás
I think you're holding back too much
Perdiéndote de todo
You're missing everything
¿Cómo puede ser que abandonarás nuestra historia
How could it be that you'll abandon our story
En las aguas de este mar que nos separa?
In the waters of this sea that separates us?
Si nos va a doler, que nos duela bien
If it's going to hurt us, let it hurt badly
Yo prefiero revolcarme en estas vueltas transatlánticas
I prefer to wallow in these trans-Atlantic laps
(i ran a project build of my code and then retreated to bed to cry and write this but now the build finished so i guess i have to stop crying and get back to work)
thank you for reading; write to me at yourstiramisu 🐌 proton dot me