Walking Disaster

It’s almost midnight, and I am watching the catastrophic downfall of #MomTok, writing my first post in over a year because I can’t sleep. I’m not entirely sure where my anxiety is coming from this time. Normally, I can pinpoint it to an upcoming (or recent) experience with any number of family members or whatever bullshit this administration is pulling. However, I’m pretty sure this lovely insomniatic spiral can be blamed on my job.

I have never been the type to stress over my job performance – but suddenly I’m desperate to be successful and/or valuable. It starts with the fact that we’re staring down the barrel of a merger, and the insecurity is more contagious than the measles outbreaks occurring suspiciously near any target recently sold out of pastel Stanley cups. I’ve had product specialists crawling up my colon for weeks when I normally can’t even get a text back from them. After three days with a product specialist getting on my case about everything I do wrong, and about how much better the new hire is, and how time in the field with me is generally a waste of his time, my level of self-gaslighting and self-doubt was at a year-to-date high. I would say all-time high, but I grew up as a brunette in Orange County.

I had a consignment sale possibility, and all seemed to be going well. However, for some reason, I picked up the product for sale to bring home before collecting their order, just to bring it back to the customer once it goes through. As I’m leaving, they make a comment about how the whole reason for buying on consignment is to keep the equipment in their office, so why am I taking it? Why am I taking it? Totally valid question, because as she asks, I realize she is completely right, and I’m an awkward idiot who has once again overthought a whole situation. Why did I make things harder for myself and this customer? Is it my fault that I haven’t heard from them in a week? Is there a chance that I fucked this up completely and lost a sale at a time when I need to prove my worth more than ever? How (and when) did I become the person who stressed for this long, and this hard, over a fucking four thousand dollar sale?

I think I’m feeling like this because there is literally no stability in this world. I am in desperate need of a place without roommates, gas is now $16/gallon, and there are favorable odds that all my rights will be taken away by octogenarians this calendar year. The only thing I can control, literally the only thing, is my budget. My desperation to prove my value and seek validation in that is reaching high school levels, which is the opposite of helpful for my self-esteem and anxiety. Logically, I know that this one sale won’t lead to a layoff. But this, combined with a few other issues not related to me, but within my territory, is making me feel increasingly insecure. I don’t like the feeling of being called into the principal’s office, or boss’s office, whether it’s my fault or not – it makes me feel unreasonably defensive. This would be the only time I advocate for in-office or non-remote work… I can’t really infer or determine if my boss or his boss’s opinion of me is if we only interact via Zoom calls. I would feel way more secure if I could tell, or knew that I wasn’t the problem child on my team, only it seems that even that won’t help me. I don’t work for an American company (thank God), but I really wish their timing for total restructure would be at a less volatile, world war type of time because my circulatory and nervous systems literally can’t handle it.

Send help…and xanax…

Actually, no, send adderall so I can work more.