one more week.
a song to set the scene // meant to stay hid by syml
I am drained.
Depleted, devoid of energy, spent, and on my last legs.
Even my fingertips struggle, the weight of lifting them an agonizing task.
It’s the last week of dip netting here on the Peninsula.
And if you’re a local and work in the service industry, you know the light is at the end of the tunnel.
One more week, of battling reckless drivers on your way to work.
One more week, of dealing with impatient, cruel, and unkind people at work, who have no tolerance for how hard and how quickly you’re working to serve them as efficiently as you can.
One more week, of dealing with egregious lines at the grocery store. Even at 11pm, fisherman crowd the aisles and deplete the shelves for the rest of us.
One more week, of dealing with this onslaught of tourists that infest our small town, that overcrowd our roads, make our hair turn prematurely grey, that make us cry in our car after coming home from our shift, that take take take and leave us feeling nothing short of exhausted.
That leave me feeling drained.
“Oh but what it does for our local economy!”
But at what cost?
This is my near fifteenth year working in the service industry, nearly all of those being in Alaska, where our town triples in size to accomodate those on the prowl to net as many fish as they can.
As is their Alaskan right.
Unfortunately, this time of year is also synonymous with the busiest, most brutal couple of weeks in the service industry.
Yes, the money comes in droves, but it always ends up leaving a mark on us, on my family, on me.
And I don’t know how much longer I can put myself through it.
Even when I have the day off, when I’m not physically there running product and dealing with grumpy guests, I’m still there.
On my days off, I am inundated with guilt because I’m not here.
On my days off, I feel responsible when things go wrong, cause I’m not there.
Because when I’m not there, I am at fault when those bad reviews come in because it is my business, my staff, and therefore I am culpable.
So yeah, I haven’t had a day off in months.
And again, I don’t know how much longer I can put myself through it.
Everything in my life falls through the cracks during this time of year: exercising, eating right, socializing with friends, intimate moments with my gem, family dinners, spending time outdoors, and most importantly: taking care of myself.
I live in the salmon capital of the world and I haven’t even been fishing yet. Like, I live here and can’t even enjoy the fruits of my labor?
My exhaustion takes over, and when I do have a moment at home to myself, I crash, hard.
I sleep for hours, often waking up to calls from work.
I lie on the couch and stare at nothing, reliably getting interrupted with work texts at 11pm.
I mope around the house, bawling on the floor on the other end of the line as I get chastised for not being at work, all day, every day.
I have no days off.
And it’s killing me.
There is no part of my life that isn’t affected by my job, and the light at the end of the tunnel could not come any sooner.
One more week, of putting myself through the most financially successful but stressful season.
One more week, of suffering on the field and on the sidelines.
One more week, of dragging myself to work only to drag myself home at the end of an exhaustive shift.
One more week.
Well, until next summer.
