The cost of freedom
I am beginning to realise the cost of going back to paid employment in central London, the loss of my freedom. Yes, I have financial security, but oh, I have lost the freedom to live my life as I need to and indeed want to.
The last couple of days haven’t been great. I have had a meltdown each day. Once because after church I decided it would be a great idea to quickly pop into Morrisions to get some food for the next couple of days. I’m right there after all. But I have changed church recently and I’m still bedding into the new place, it is bigger, louder and more people. Popping into Morrisions was a bad idea. I rarely go into supermarkets now as I find them so overwhelming, and this place is especially horrible. We don’t live in a great place and I have witnessed, more than once parents effing and blinding at their kids, telling them they are stupid etc, dragging them around and hitting them. I know it is rather shallow of me, but I can’t handle that, it is triggering and stressful.
Yesterday was my Monday, my favourite day as I don’t work and I am at home by myself, but we need to have a Smart Meter fitted (against my wishes) and the British Gas man was coming. Just knowing that means I am on edge the whole time, but when you take into account the chaos of the cupboard under the stairs being emptied I am in a heightened state of stress. You know what is coming don’t you… despite not playing music, and having a dog which goes ballistic if anyone so much as breathes on the front gate, we managed to miss them. I really don’t know how, but when I checked for the post and saw the ‘we missed you’ card, I lost it totally, and then I had to deal with the rage inducing automated phone line.
So today, as is somewhat inevitable, I have woken up at 4am… I tried to get back to sleep and gave up at 4.30. I got up, did some very gentle yoga, prayer and lay on the floor with Buster for a while before getting up and getting on with my morning.
When I was self employed, this was fine, I would start work early, and then finish at lunch time, allowing myself a nap in the afternoon and a gentle walk in the woods with Buster. That’s not possible now. It is 6.30am, and in a couple of hours I have to get on a train for 45 mins, 30 mins walk across the city, work from 10-6pm and then do it all in reverse again to get back home. A large part of work is answering the phone and helping clients. I hate the phone. I will be running on adrenaline all day long, which will make it harder to get to sleep this evening again, the whole cycle will start back up.
My self employment, working in the arts sector in this current economic climate, had become untenable, but although I like the fact I get a regular salary and I am not responsible for finding my own work, I am worried the cost is too high.