I’ve been waiting, increasingly impatiently, to get to work. I’m not going to complain about how long it is taking me to get working, but I’m left a little disenchanted. I have managed to pick up some tutoring work on the “side”, hopeful that it will remain supplementary. If all goes well, I’ll be working four nights a week, once on each of Saturday and Sunday, and mostly five days a week.
Anyway, in a flight of mild frustration, I called in today to check on the status of my paperwork. I was told that it should all be completed by Monday. That means that I should be able to work by Tuesday. I called my mum after I hung up with the nice lady who gave me the update, and left my mum an update on her voicemail. She called me back and said that I sounded frustrated. I’m a little frustrated.
My patience is wearing very thin, and I’m a pretty patient guy. As a rule, I don’t get upset about tardiness because I’m most often the perpetrator. In this instance, however, I’m irked. I want to start working. I like my chosen profession a lot, and I think I’m pretty good at it. Not being able to work because of what I’m perceiving to be are operational inefficiencies is starting to make me curse more poetically. I appreciate that people are busy, and the organization that I work for is very large, but I’m finding it harder to satisfy myself with rationalized excuses for the delay.
In the end, it all likely boils down to the fact that I’m getting really bored with my days. I need to not spend so much time with myself.
Today, hopeful that things will work out in the end, I got 250 of these little doodads printed up:
I really believe that I did this to remind myself that I do, in fact, have a job, and that I will, eventually, actually be working as an occasional teacher. I needed some positive reinforcement. 250 times over.
I also made an appointment today with a fitness psychotherapist. I don’t e’en know what that is, but I’ll send out an update after tomorrow’s session.