The mailbox seems really far away

There’s this woman, my neighbor, lives across the street, actually, and when I moved in nearly seven years ago, I dubbed her “Crazy Lady.”  I realize I shouldn’t have done that, because Crazy Lady isn’t a very nice term, but I was twenty-three and what I knew to be crazy at that time was pretty close to this woman. Now, though, I wouldn’t call her Crazy Lady, though the title still comes to mind when I see her, but she does seem to hear a beat that no one else does. And, in defense of my twenty-three-year-old self, she will not hesitate to share that with you. So Crazy Lady? Not so much. More like Completely Mind-Boggling Oversharing Lady With Lots of Cats and Dogs on the Premises.

You have to admit, Crazy Lady is a lot shorter and more to-the-point.

The entire point of sharing Crazy Lady is that, well, I have a fear lately of becoming Crazy Lady.  Crazy Lady is single. I am single. Crazy Lady wears jeans and t-shirts all the time. I do love my jeans and t-shirts. Crazy Lady does not do much with her hair. Hi, have you seen my pony-tail EVERY DAY THIS WEEK? The similarities go beyond that, but that’s not really what scares me most. The thing that’s always stood out about Crazy Lady is that she always seems so exhausted. Like walking to the bank of mailboxes is so taxing on her you can hear the sigh from you front door. And that’s how I feel lately. Daily tasks are laboring, and thinking about them is even more so.

I have felt like this for months now. Much of it is due to my daily routine, mainly my work. It’s possible you remember a post or two last year that indicated I wasn’t happy in my work, or, more specifically, my job. Little did I know then that it was just the beginning. Due to circumstances I won’t name, each day has deteriorated more and more. I have wonderful, wonderful coworkers, but beyond that, I feel like the last six months has taught me the real meaning of soul-sucking, with no chance of improvement any time soon. It may not be the smartest thing to write about on the Internet, but it is all I can think about, and to deal with it is more than I can handle anymore.

Two days ago, my friend at work, the man who was diagnosed with pancratic cancer earlier this year, passed away. I’m very sad, and needless to say I’m not feeling like myself.  I’ve also become very close with his family over these past months, and my heart breaks for them daily. And by no means am I making this about me, but in the light of losing a friend, I have seen how seriously unhappy I am even more clearly illuminated. And I do not know what to do.

I do my best to distract myself, to continue living other parts of my life because those are the things important to me.  I run marathons, make caterpillar cakes, and plan trips, and that all helps. I still talk with friends, and go to parties. Amazingly enough, I don’t start every email or conversation with “Hi, I’m dead inside.” Apart from my job, I seem to be myself quite often. In fact, that has probably been what’s saved me up until this point. It’s just the long-term I’m worried about.

I have done all the right things: searched, networked, applied, interviewed, came damn close to relocating to Texas, for crying outloud, but at the end of the day, here I still sit.  I know it’s just a matter of time, I know there is always hope, I tell myself these things daily. But in the meantime, I feel like I might come home, think of walking down to the mailbox, and then cry.

And there, just like that, I’m Crazy Lady.  Minus two dogs and about fifteen cats.