No desire, no ambition
So much to accomplish, so little focus. So little concern. I'm sitting here with my laptop, over an hour to kill before I train my last client of the day. I "intended" to update client master sheets for my boss (I'm a personal trainer) so I can be prepared for them in the coming days. But I'm writing here instead because I seem to feel overwhelmed. That's been happening a lot lately and I cannot be doing this anymore.
I'm almost positive that part of this problem stems from the emotional burnout of not making as much money as I thought I would make this year. I've had multiple income irregularities between clients dropping out and their holidays (I train the Orthodox Jewish community) since the year began, and I am only beginning to replenish my rainy-day funds. It's so bad I finally went looking for a second PT gig, which I did find, and I begin at the end of this month. My hope is to eventually transition out of my current job should I be successful at this other place, and I'd work at this studio full-time while finally getting my own business off the ground.
The second piece of this, not to garner sympathy from anyone, is having found out at the beginning of May that I have a pituitary adenoma. For those who don't know, this is a benign tumor lodged up in the pituitary gland of the brain. Not only is this tumor causing various hormonal problems, but it's also sitting pretty behind my optical nerve. Therefore, double vision can happen to me at any time.
I'll have to undergo surgery. I'll also most likely have to take time off work and I don't get paid unless I work. That scares me. I'd have to find a way to either get disability or do an entire overhaul of all my clients' routines because I won't be allowed to lift more than 20lbs for 6 weeks.
Just yesterday I chose to go to the library to handle my paperwork. My apartment's Wi-Fi was not working, and I knew I'd have fewer distractions. After finishing up the routines of at least a few clients I disassociated, lost interest, and walked home, never to finish my work. I hate it. I hate myself. I sometimes wonder if I made the right decision in leaving the most stable job I ever held just to "bet on myself". If I kept that job, miserable as I'd be, I'd at least still get paid during my summer vacation, so I could sit home and decompress.
Thinking is becoming harder to do. Analyzing data has become a chore. I don't even want to clean my tiny apartment. I didn't even want to clean it when I was working from home during the pandemic, thus providing me with an entire year and a half to clean it. Still, it wasn't done. Perhaps I am burnt out after all?
I'm almost positive that part of this problem stems from the emotional burnout of not making as much money as I thought I would make this year. I've had multiple income irregularities between clients dropping out and their holidays (I train the Orthodox Jewish community) since the year began, and I am only beginning to replenish my rainy-day funds. It's so bad I finally went looking for a second PT gig, which I did find, and I begin at the end of this month. My hope is to eventually transition out of my current job should I be successful at this other place, and I'd work at this studio full-time while finally getting my own business off the ground.
The second piece of this, not to garner sympathy from anyone, is having found out at the beginning of May that I have a pituitary adenoma. For those who don't know, this is a benign tumor lodged up in the pituitary gland of the brain. Not only is this tumor causing various hormonal problems, but it's also sitting pretty behind my optical nerve. Therefore, double vision can happen to me at any time.
I'll have to undergo surgery. I'll also most likely have to take time off work and I don't get paid unless I work. That scares me. I'd have to find a way to either get disability or do an entire overhaul of all my clients' routines because I won't be allowed to lift more than 20lbs for 6 weeks.
Just yesterday I chose to go to the library to handle my paperwork. My apartment's Wi-Fi was not working, and I knew I'd have fewer distractions. After finishing up the routines of at least a few clients I disassociated, lost interest, and walked home, never to finish my work. I hate it. I hate myself. I sometimes wonder if I made the right decision in leaving the most stable job I ever held just to "bet on myself". If I kept that job, miserable as I'd be, I'd at least still get paid during my summer vacation, so I could sit home and decompress.
Thinking is becoming harder to do. Analyzing data has become a chore. I don't even want to clean my tiny apartment. I didn't even want to clean it when I was working from home during the pandemic, thus providing me with an entire year and a half to clean it. Still, it wasn't done. Perhaps I am burnt out after all?
