A DAY OFF

It’s Wednesday morning and I am trying to decide if getting a second part time morning job would either be good for my over productive mind (or lack there of) or if it would finally be the thing to push me over the edge where I just go crazy and shave my head or move to Germany. I have fantasized about moving to Europe but the reality is that my codependency would never allow it. Who would I talk to? The language alone scares the shit out of me. I guess it’s very American of me to think that there would be enough people who spoke English to get by but learning any new skill at this age has been daunting. I’ve been doing the same shit for so long its embarrassing. Realizing that being drunk isn’t a personality trait was the most difficult I think. I thought I was pretty fucking popular to be quite honest and I am now starting to realize that is absolutely not the case. The people I was surrounding myself with don’t give a shit about me, bar friends exist at the bar. I used to think about how long it would take some one to find me if I died in my old studio apartment, who would actually come looking for me. I think my boss, Lisa would. She’s just a good person though and would be concerned if I missed any shifts. It’s kind of like the meme where the manager is standing over some ones casket and says “thanks a lot we are understaffed today”. We are never “understaffed” really, just so perfectly on par that if some one doesn’t show up we don’t have the extra bodies. It’s honestly the weirdest job I’ve ever had. I think this will be the one I tell stories about when I’m 60 and have had too much red wine with dinner and my kids will roll their eyes. Hopefully by then I will have made something of myself and I’ll just be another one of those annoying “I used to work in a restaurant” people.