I find myself whining lately about my sleep schedule. Or is it my work schedule? Life schedule?
As a cocktail waitress, I don’t think my job should stress me out, at least not outside of work. If you care enough about your job, it’ll always be somewhat stressful.
I may be eating no meat, but I sure am imbibing a lot of wheat. Barley. Hops.
I’ve noticed something. My alcohol consumption rises directly in proportion to my stress levels. The more I miss home, the harder it is to say, “no” when someone says, “Want to get a drink after work?”
But when I’m so stressed at work that I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs or, at the very least, ripping one of my customers a new one, well. On those days, I’m the person saying, “I don’t care who comes with me, but I’m getting a drink after work.”
Lately, we’ve filled our local bar.
Is this why I haven’t been writing? Maybe. Maybe I haven’t had much inspiration lately. Maybe I’m just lazy.
I noticed something.
When I’m really happy,
Until next time.