work – Brittany and Jesse Are Running Away

Let me live, love, and say it well in good sentences
Syvia Plath

I had my first panic attack when I was five years old. I was overwhelmed with the idea of having to balance talking and breathing at the same time. I sat there at the foot of my parent’s bed at 2am having just downed half a bottle of Tum’s and contemplated how people could so casually carry on conversations without gasping for breath after every syllable they wheezed out. It was as if they didn’t even have to stop and think about the mechanics of it all which I could not begin to comprehend. I sat there and hyperventilated over the thought of one day hyperventilating. Thus began a lifetime of acid reflux and and over thinking even the simplest of situations. But I am telling you that once I learn how to talk and breathe at the same time you’ll need to buckle up because nothing will be able to stand in my way.

Does anyone else seem to have a midlife crisis every two months? I was having a particularly bad day at my job running a farm and feed store. I had two different shoes on, my assistant fell off of the proverbial wagon, and Tractor Supply was coming into town to kill us off. On this no good very bad day, I received a call from a job recruiter. I was intrigued by the timing alone. On a whim I agreed to an interview with this fortune 500 company for a management position that paid 5k more a year than I was currently making. I interviewed after work and the following day was offered the job. By this time I had changed my mind five different times wearing three different outfits. The job was for EVS management or in simpler terms, Housekeeping babysitter. I wrote to the recruiter and politely declined the offer claiming that my current employer counter offered (small white lie), and then I quickly ducked and weaved and dodged all of their phone calls. They were exceptionally persistent though and a week later I received a call from this company upping the offer by another 5k. This was a little harder to turn down so I accepted.

Fast forward 60 days, enter into chaos. I was bamboozled, cheated, hoodwinked, deceived, hornswoggled, and downright swindled, I’m telling you the wool was pulled over my eyes. I pulled out the thesaurus to make sure that you get the picture. Every single pretty thing stated in that interview that sounded so melodic to my tired ears was a lie. My district manager was let go for dabbling with the help, my buildings assigned to me grew from 5 to 20 and my staff shrunk from 50 to an unmotivated and very disgruntled 34. I stood precariously on the edge of a sinking ship that I had never even fully intended on boarding and definitely was not prepared to go down with.

So here I float on an old wooden door with much debate over whether DiCaprio could have fit or not and cling to the chance that things may get better while simultaneously peddling my resume to anyone with a good enough benefit package. I am not going quietly I must admit, I may be one of the squeakiest wheels ever to have sqoke (it’s not a word but I have accepted it’s place here). I am fighting for my right to party as well as my employee’s right to take bereavement leave when their pet dies. I am tearing down walls and tearing up redundant memos. I am standing up for sitting down and won’t rest until we get 15 minutes of uninterrupted rest.

While I am having a nervous breakdown, my husband on the other hand is living his best life. He has become a perfect specimen of a well adjusted man and I have turned into the troll at the door who makes him answer riddles before crossing the threshold. Lucky for me he has a thing for Middle Earth and doesn’t mind a little trolling. Jesse has gotten to get back into music and I have gotten to back into the front row. Who knows what will happen once I unravel myself from the mess I have fallen into, maybe I find something better, maybe I find something worse, maybe I sell everything and hit the road again. You should always have a plan “A” “B” and “C” and when in doubt, know your way out.