Week whatever, I’m exhausted and not the least motivated.
I have a lot on my mind and heart.
One, I’m quite stressed with new work responsibilities. I’m always that way when given something new. I get so paranoid about not understanding it all at once. I panic that I’ll let something slip through the cracks. I’m terrified of making a mistake.
Yet I know that once I know it, in a relatively short period of time, all will be well. So, please, stop panicking. Knowing it will all be well is only so comforting. These are just old tapes that I’m stupid or can’t learn things. I have to overcome these old tapes every day.
And I am glad for the extra responsibility even though I actually feel I’m the busiest person in the whole office, but there are only seven of us and we all wear lots of hats. It just so happens that I am interrupted every two minutes by a phone call, and when I’m in this learning/panicking phase, I fucking hate being interrupted. It would not be so bad, but our new phone system puts every call through me. In the past they could get calls directly to their desk. Who’s idea was this!?
But I need to hold on, because eventually they will get more funding and they will move me from the front desk, I just know it. I have to get through the next two to three weeks looking as competent as I possibly can. The opportunity to advance will be there for me, probably in the next year.
So the added stress made me throw my fitness and eating plan right out the window. I simply can’t handle more than one thing at a time!
And I over committed myself to a bunch of church activities and am facing burnout there, working hard in the kitchen after work. And I’m realizing I need to scale it back and give myself some real downtime on the weekends. They fly by so, so quickly.
And, I’m struggling with my conscience as well. Twice a month I work hard, getting to the church by 8 a.m. on Saturdays to prepare and serve breakfast to upwards of 300 homeless / hungry people. But I’m losing my empathy because they are all drug users! They wake up every day and decide life on the streets being dirty, with sores all over their faces, filthy, smelly, is better than giving up meth or heroine or whatever their poison is.
They twitch, they can’t make eye contact — to be honest I feel like I might was well be asking a zombie, “Good morning! Would you like some grits?” Because they are like zombies. These are not people who are simply hard on their luck, looking for a hand. These are addicts and I am having a terrible time feeling compassion for them!
The breakfast twice a month has been my ministry at my church for about nine months, but perhaps I need to take a break from it. Because I don’t see how we’re helping them. Yes, we’re feeding them, but few of them are skinny or hungry looking. WE ARE NOT ADDRESSING THEIR DRUG PROBLEM. And every city across America is filled with people of all ages who are helpless over these highly addictive drugs! This is not like the old days with a few local drunks. This feels epidemic!
They have taken over parts of our downtown. They are intimidating and not friendly. They sit on the sidewalk right outside nice restaurants with their signs, dogs, and bowls. This is their life choice and they seem defiant about it! I’ve heard in Portland it got so bad that they took over a downtown park, were shooting up and even having sex in public. They don’t care.
“What Would Jesus Do?” I think he’d get fucking angry at them! People like my nephew who just came into town and is able bodied, but would rather smoke weed all day long and just get by on the minimum. I fucking hate all drugs, even weed, which I feel makes people boring, unmotivated, and stupid.
I am wound up.
Tomorrow after church services there will be information tables explaining other opportunities for ministry — I need to take a look at them and take a break from the zombie drug addicts. I need to work on my compassion, too, and why this bothers me so much. I need to ask God to help me.
I’m going to try to have a word with the priest or assistant priest about this lack of caring I’m feeling towards them — certainly it is unChristianlike.
My addicted nephew who made his mom’s life a living hell came to Portland because his older brother thought he could turn him around. He got a job quickly but only three days a week. He acted as though that was just fine. And ultimately, of course, he got fired and he was soon on the streets of PDX. He posts pictures of him and his gummy mouthed girlfriend cooking on the curb in Portland as though “this is the life.” I wrote to him privately on FB and said, “You won’t like it when it’s freezing and wet and dark. Please focus on your sobriety.” He never responded.
And now, he’s in our town. He and his sister met my parents for lunch and evidently he kept saying, “I don’t know why people think I have a drug problem.” And I’m so glad I wasn’t there, I would have screamed at him, “Are you a fucking idiot? You’re 29 years old, able bodied, and choosing to live on the street — YOU DO HAVE A PROBLEM WITH DRUGS.”
My own 39 year old daughter works seven days a week and takes three classes per term to better her life. Then you have this fucking asshole who just thinks hard work is for others, not him.
Oh my God, I’m sorry I’m so wound up.
I told every member of his family, including his mother, that I did not want any of this drama to end up at my parent’s doorstep, and the VERY FIRST DAY HE’S IN TOWN THEY CALL TO COME OVER AND HANG OUT ON MY PARENT’S COUCH? FUCK NO! My parents are the ones who said why not meet us at a restaurant instead. Now I feel I’m going to have to tell them point blank — DON’T COME AROUND HERE!!!!!
The last time I came home, several months ago, while they were here, thank God my mom was not here, because the house smelled like a skunk exploded due to a backpack filled with marijuana. I had them put it outside. Then I was thinking, fuck, this is illegal, isn’t it? I can’t even keep track any longer. But I do have a job where background checks are performed and I do not want to be around a backpack full of pot.
FUCKING CLUELESS ASSHOLES.
Shit. Fuck. What should I do? I want to protect my parents. But if I tell my sister’s two loser kids they can’t bring their stoned asses around here, I might make my sister despise me. FUCK!
—- an hour later —
I got so upset, I was composing a message to my sister, then deleted it and went to talk to my parents. I feel a little calmer now. We are all in agreement. They were very embarrassed to be at a restaurant with the three smelly ragamuffins today and they don’t want them hanging around their house.
We have nothing in common with them or their lifestyle and we’ve agreed to wait until the next invitation of theirs to lay it out for them. Dad has offered to do the talking since they will know he still loves them. If my mom says it, they’ll hate her more than they already do.
My sister is having horrible health problems out in Louisiana and doesn’t need to be dragged into this, although I’m sure she’ll hear about it. I don’t understand how her kids, who grew up watching her work to support all five of them because their father was a moron and didn’t contribute one cent after the divorce, have no work ethic whatsoever.
I am seriously annoyed, however, that my sister and her relatively sober son in Portland assured me over and over that this druggie son would not bring drama to his grandparent’s doorstep and he did so within 24 hours of being in town.
Mom and dad said that as heads of the family they’d take care of it, so I am stepping out of the middle. I’ve got to find a way to chill out. I wish I had a hiking buddy. I really do.