I have now entered my first “full” week at work.
After rolling out of bed, I went through the motions of what has quickly become my morning routine, and then made my way to The Clubhouse. Although I’ve only had a few days on the job, there are a couple of tasks which have already become standard procedure when I arrive at my desk. Little things, like checking messages and collecting various membership statistics and data. Otherwise known as: administration work.
Once I finished my morning round-up, Robyn and I began talking about what I’ll actually be working on as a “Member Relations Coordinator.” Essentially, the two of us went through every page of the job description I had Robyn create for me, and discussed what each section would involve. We basically broke things down into four major categories, each with its own purpose and projects.
Listening to Robyn go over the projects I’ll be managing, I began to realize that this role is a completely different job than I have ever had before. Robyn was doling out responsibilities like dollar bills at a strip club. Over the course of about two hours, I was assigned more tasks than I could remember, all of which Robyn expects me to go off, complete, and then come back to her with professional answers.
This has never happened to me before. I don’t think I’ve ever had this level of responsibility. As I was nodding wide-eyed at Robyn in the hopes of maintaining as much focus as I could manage – despite the fact that my eyes kept drifting to the stretched out floral pattern on her flowy chiffon blouse – I actually became quite anxious.
What the fuck do I really know about this stuff? I haven’t had a “project” to complete since university. Not to mention, all of my previous jobs have had strict corporate guidelines on how management wanted things done. It wasn’t the lack of supervision that was sending me into a spiral – it was the amount of work I’m now responsible for.
Robyn eventually left our office, escaping for a moment to grab her bag of baby carrots, which she would then loudly chomp on over the next hour. Frazzled by our lengthy discussion, I took a Xanax. After that, everything was fine.
Side note: when Robyn went to fetch her snack, I noticed that she had a horse calendar on her bulletin board, along with a picture of another horse as her desktop computer background. With those visuals in mind, Robyn’s carrot chomping then made perfect sense.
Honestly, I find the trick to battling this responsibility and task confusion is to ask as many questions as I can think of. I’d rather ask 1,000 questions now, while I still have the excuse of being “new” – which I plan on milking as long as possible, by the way – so that three months down the road, I don’t look like a complete asshole. I will say that having such responsibility bestowed upon my desk did provide me with a bit of hope that perhaps what I’m doing at The Clubhouse won’t be a complete waste of my professional life. I now have projects that I’ll be managing on my own. That being said, it’s still not the most thrilling of work.
After finishing at The Clubhouse, I walked home, stopping by the grocery store along the way. I made dinner at the Witch Cave, watched Zootopia – seriously, it’s so fucking good – and then trolled some new suspects on Grindr while lying on my rug and doing sit-ups.
I watched the clock strike midnight this evening. It’s officially my birthday. A part of me – the unrealistic, delusional, hopeless romantic part – wanted a message from RX at midnight. Like old times. Well, that definitely didn’t happen. At least I have my head on straight enough as not to expect such a gesture from Logan.
This birthday feels very weird. The whole thing feels somewhat anti-climactic. However, maybe that’s a good thing. 25 was such a fucking rough year for me. Although, to be honest, I don’t see 26 being much easier. Why? Because the same problems still exist within me. I don’t know what I want from this new year of my life. I’m not sure what I want to focus on.
I want to be happy.
I want to be confident in myself, my attitude, my relationships, and with the decisions I make in life.
I want to live life by my gut, and speak from it as well.
I don’t want to hold back my opinions, or be ashamed of my interests.
I want to learn, grow, develop, and create new experiences for myself.
Most of all, I don’t want to apologize for who I am. I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of that recently. Constantly hoping to find someone who will fill this indescribable emotional void inside of me, thus curing my loneliness. As if, “Maybe if he fucks me, I won’t feel so empty inside.” I want to fill that void myself.
I want to be happy. That’s what I want from my 26th year.
Goodnight xo