As some of you know, I work as a transcriber. Work that I am very good at, and which my conscientious self takes pride in doing well. And work that I'm also not very disciplined with, because it's not really suited to my temperament. A word of advice: if you're going to work from home, make sure it's something you love. It makes it just that little bit easier :)
I'm also in the process of studying to work as a personal care worker for people requiring assistance in their homes, and to get out and about in the community. The space between this job and the next feels like it's going to drag on forever and ever, but in reality I will be trained and ready to go in my new work in five months. Hopefully. I am still to organise my placement - all 120 hours of it - before I can get out and working. Hopefully I will be able to have all of that done and dusted and in five months be off and running ... or as off and running as a CFSey person can be :)
My anxiety screams that five months is way too long because money. Money is tight and I have not been contributing much at all in recent times, leaving my partner to shoulder most of the burden, which awakens pretty much every demon that I have, giving ample opportunity to feel depressed and like a useless loser, basically. I've been trying to drum up extra transcription work, but it's not been all that forthcoming.
And so once I move into my new part-time work situation, combined with the disability support pension I hope to begin receiving soon, and suddenly the world of Susie will feel a little less precarious. And I will be able to resume a regular writing practice again. Because my world has been as wobbly as a fault line for some time now, and I need it to stabilise for my health's sake, both mentally and physically.
So I will hang on till then. Wait in the fire, wait in the fire. This too shall pass, and what has felt like it's forever coming will be here and I can relax.
To be brutally honest, the thought of washing old men's testicles is terrifying to me. The thought of assisting the old man who lives on the end of the testicles to remain independent in his home for as long as possible is exciting and gratifying. The former I will get used to. Hopefully not the latter.
And so I wait until then. But it's a stressful wait. To be honest with you, I'm struggling. Money woes, old trauma that rears it's head up and threatens to devour. Health going up and down like a bride's nightie so I can't get any purchase on anything, so I'm not productive, so I feel like shit.
I feel like shit. And I feel apologetic about it because I'm paranoid. And I feel paranoid because almost menopause. And so this post is turning into a whinge, but I'm sorry, I'm just simply not shiny. I'm tarnished. Too much time on my hands with menopause looming so close to be able to resist overthinking. Which contributes to the extra health things. But I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to climb out of this pit.
(In fact, I think the problem with me is not so much that I don't try as I overtry. And I overcare. I know this, but I've come to know it just a little bit better lately. I so want to be free of the past ...)
And so I can't wait to get out there working, in whatever capacity my chronically fatigued body will allow me. I really can't wait. I know I am going to be so much happier when I do. Perhaps then I will be able to write posts that are about things that extend a little beyond my very own navel ;)
To finish, in my class last week we watched two episodes of Derek. Have you seen it? Ricky Gervais plays Derek, a worker in a nursing home, and all it took was 29 minutes or so to have me gathered in and in love with these characters. A lovely light-hearted look at ageing, disability, and what it means to be human in the very best sense. Gervais is so brilliant in this.