My alarm goes off for what must be the fifth time this morning. With my eyes tight shut I reach out and fumble for my phone as it screeches and vibrates on my bedside table. My fingers slide across the screen, and I pray I touch something that will silence the alarm once more. Once that happens, I groan and turn over; I need to delay dragging myself out out bed a while longer.
I can’t face another day in that shit job. I’ve been feeling less and less satisfied working in that office full of bitchy and lazy co-workers, but yesterday left me at an all time low.
Being in a mind-numbing job in a giant, faceless company is the pits. I had never expected to be in this position five years ago. After graduating university with a first class degree, I only took the damn job as a stop gap until I could get my ideal job in an art gallery. Somehow, with bills to pay and lack of openings in galleries, I ended up stuck there.
Now it’s a daily battle to build up any enthusiasm to get out of bed and go into work. The amount of sickies I’ve pulled in the last six months is more than I’ve ever genuninely called in over the last five years.
“Jules!” My housemate calls from below in her cheery voice. “You’d better get moving, or you’ll be late.”
I ignore her and squeeze my eyes shut. I try to convince myself that if I don’t open them, I don’t have to admit defeat and face the day.
A knock at the door is followed by a bright and breezy, “Wake up, sleepy head! I brought you a coffee to get you going.”
“I don’t want to,” I grumble.
I feel the mattress depress to my right as Lucy plops down on the bed.
“Come on, the sun is shining and it’s a beautiful day. It’s time to get moving.”
“That’s easy enough for you to say,” I mumble into my pillow. “You have a job you love. What’s waiting for me outside the house? Just another daily grind on the overcrowded tube, eight hours filled with pointless paperwork, and occasional bits of gossip about the latest secretary who has succumbed to my scumbag boss’s slimy come-ons.”
This time Lucy groans, “Well why don’t you get out of bed and do something about it? You can’t go on like this, Jules. You’re heading for a mental health crash and you know it!”
“What can I do? I need the money and there’s nothing else out there at the moment.”
The truth is I’m scared; scared of going into a job I despise, and scared of taking a chance to find something else. It was easier to just float along and try to pretend it wasn’t making me ill.
My stomach felt tight again; it was a sign of my increasing anxiety. The thought of even a mouthful of coffee was unappealing.
What am I going to do? Lucy is right. I need to snap out of this downward spiral.
The alarm sounds again and I groan. I am so tired; tired of having to think about it all.
