In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

It's amazing how insecurity can hold such a firm grasp on the night. Daytime is a bustling time. There is work to be done, phone calls to answer, tasks to be completed. As the night falls and the things around me fall silent, I find myself either blissfully deep in slumber or frantically searching for something to help me fall asleep. In the case of the latter, I am almost certainly attempting to restrain my insecurities, one way or another.

Lately my dreams have been frightening. I have been shot, involved in a plane crash, had my apartment broken into, purchased a javelina (yes, it was specific and yes, that would be frightening. Too much Planet Earth I think). All things that represent dramatic change, unrest and instability. I don't pretend to be a master dream interpreter but there are often thematic cycles that are not difficult to decipher. For example, I will occasionally go through a period in which all of my dreams involve the loss of my teeth. Weird, right? After a quick google search I read that this is symbolic of a lack of control in my life. Makes sense but I'm trying to remember a time when I felt like I was in control to begin with. 

This morning, which I hate to call it, I woke fearful and feeling insecure in my current dating relationship. We're trying to make the long-distance thing work. I swear it becomes more difficult every day and while the distance is usually manageable, it's amazing how not getting a goodnight call has the power to throw me completely out of whack. All of a sudden I was panic-stricken, convinced that not getting a call was his passive aggressive message that his interest is fading. In reality, he probably fell asleep after a long day's work. Take into account that I had also spent the better part of 2 hours on the phone with him earlier in the day, and I'm being nonsensical. 

It occurs to me, however, that for better or worse, my fears are rooted somewhere and it is only through self-analysis that I can begin to move through or past them. Thank goodness for this blogging business or Mr. Kansas City would get a lot less sleep, fielding my calls in the wee hours of the morning.

UUUGHH!!

Time flies and I have been less than stellar about blogging. So, to the three of you that check this, I apologize for keeping you out of the loop. You see, I work in Retail and it's the holiday season. This means I spent two full months lost in the abyss of gift cards and compulsively checking my bottom line (red). 

It's amazing how I have come to appreciate the holiday season less each year that I spend in retail. November and December used to be a time for dinners with friends, holiday open houses and gift shopping with people I love, now I find myself missing most social events and gatherings involving both friends and family save for the ones involving...you guessed it...coworkers. In fact, the holiday season has almost become depressing. I see the pictures and hear stories from the events in which I don't get to participate. I'd be lying if I said I didn't occasionally wish that everybody was in the same boat as I so we could be miserable together. 

I don't write this to complain about my job. I actually love that I can outfit a couple for a holiday safari together or help a parent get their child set up in his first climbing harness. I guess, like most, I want to be able to have it all. I want to have my pumpkin pie and eat it too. Mostly, it makes me recognize that my current occupation MUST only be temporary. I think opting to maintain it as a life-long career (do those even exist anymore?) would slowly drain my passion for the parts of it that I love. Ultimately, I want to outfit a child in his/her first harness and TAKE them climbing. I want to guide that couple through the Ngorogoro Crater and help them understand its significance. 

I will never be able to do it all. I will always be wanting to. But I think there is a position out there better suited for me. One in which I can maintain a work-life balance year round. Even during the holidays.