Loosely based on a true story…
If Monday had a face, I’d… well, you know.
My Saturday night was going pretty well until I realized it was Sunday.
We should be so lucky.
That little face though! I can’t even be upset at the news he’s telling.
I think no matter how much you love your job, Mondays are bittersweet, if not downright traumatic. Unless, of course, you’re the Director of Cat Cuddles at the local cat sanctuary… then Mondays would be a joy. Alas, such a job opening has been quite elusive, and trust me, I’ve searched the want ads until my vision is blurry. In the meantime, Mondays will remain coffee fueled.
It’s Monday yet again. It comes with infuriating regularity. Although Monday and I will never be friends – except perhaps after I win the mega-millions lottery – recently, Mondays, for me, haven’t been so bad.
In life, we have two choices. We can devote our time to activities we love, surrounding ourselves with, if not exactly low-stress endeavors, at least endeavors that do not prompt the need for an impromptu intervention … or we can devote our time to fighting against things we hate. Which is better?
Until very recently, I devoted my time, energy, and whole heart into a cause I am passionate about: animal advocacy. What I’ve learned is that the nightmares never end, figuratively and literally.
I loved what I did, and I’m still active in the animal advocacy world, but I found out that devoting myself to it exclusively led to high stress levels that affected me physically and emotionally. I stayed with the job, subjecting myself day in and day out to nightmare scenes I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, and for a lot less money than I realistically needed to survive. I was tirelessly devoted to my job out of loyalty and dedication to the cause, letting myself suffer financially and mentally for far longer than I should have. At last, I had no choice but to change jobs.
Now, I work with food. Yummy foods. I work for a food broker, managing a variety of vegetarian and vegan lines. I find my sleep is a little better; the worst thing in my nightmares about my new job is the rumored Great Carrot Revolt coming in the fall of this year. My job is interesting, and I am surrounded by what I love, food. And did I mention, I work with food?
It’s only been a couple of months since I left my animal advocacy job, and while I can sleep a little better now, there are situations and images seared into my brain that I will likely carry with me for the rest of my life; thank the Gods that be that my mental library of horror is no longer being replenished daily. I have no regrets about leaving the job behind, but I do struggle with a little bit of guilt for leaving the cause.
It’s a much better situation that I am in now, of course, and I find myself looking forward to going to work instead of wondering what fresh level of Hell I will be walking into every day. Discussions about food are, hands down, much more satisfying than discussions about defenseless animals trapped in unthinkable situations. Still, the guilt is there, an itchy spot in my brain that I can’t quite scratch.
I’m very busy every day, with a different set of jer … ummm, associates to deal with. But the worst abuse I face now is someone trying to launch a new line of snack packs with no understanding whatsoever of their target audience. No longer do I face veiled, and not-so-veiled, threats from low-lifes who regularly exhibit sociopath and psychopath tendencies. No longer must I explain to a well-meaning donor that the world does not, in fact, rest on my shoulders and no, I cannot control everything and everyone. No longer am I faced with images that could very well be in a Clive Barker film … and not in a good way.
Oh, the work is challenging, and I am in a management position meaning I have a lot of responsibility and must be on top of my game … BUT our meetings at my new job revolve around food, and who doesn’t love food? We are all enthusiastic about our jobs, and our days are filled with delicious excitement, not horrible dread. And still, there it is again; a twinge of guilt.
I no longer argue with the belligerently ignorant in our midst over why leaving an egregiously crippled animal to starve is animal cruelty, and I don’t have to explain, with pictures, video, and tales from the field, for the umpteenth time why horse slaughter is a horrific fate for any horse and should be permanently abolished. I can go home from work and just “be,” like a normal person, without collapsing into tears on my bathroom floor over what I’ve seen that day.
I will deal with my slight twangs of guilt in favor of a life I can enjoy. I am proud of my past work in the advocacy group, and I know they will continue to succeed in the fight to protect the helpless … they are an amazing organization doing amazing work. I still follow news, with a heavy heart, and get involved in ways that do not consume my life and scar my soul.
I know that some would say I abandoned the animal advocacy group, but I look at it as self-preservation. Sometimes, you need to accept your past accomplishments and opt for taking care of yourself. It doesn’t mean you stopped caring; if you ask me, it means you care too much.
Well, folks … it’s Sunday. You know what that means. Yep. Monday. Ugh.
So. It’s Sunday night and I didn’t win the mega-lotto jackpot. Again. I guess this means tomorrow is the start of yet another work week. Damn.