I'm so tired, my skin hurts. It's after 1 am, work is over, and my bed is waiting. Sometimes, I'm too spazzy to sleep, other times I can't leave a painting or crafty project. Tonight is the lesser, but most aggravating cause of insomnia: self-destructive worry over shortcomings. I'm hoping that putting this in print will drive the absurdity into my brain hard enough to knock me out.
I never thought a teen shelter would be my favorite job. It is depressing, chaotic, fun, uplifting, dangerous, easy, and natural. I'm good because I remember every detail kids tell me, and know what to do with it. I can de-escalate crazy shit, deal with ugly cps reporting, and basically I'm good and almost all of it.
The Butt. I took "attention to detail" off my resume, because it caused employers to notice typos. I have no "attention to detail," and filling out paperwork properly, and getting to the right person at the right time sucks. I can not collate properly if those kids lives depended on it, and in some cases, they do. I managed a crazy house last night, but screwed up a ton of paperwork. Everything turned out fine, but it stresses me out. Paperwork is bad.
Ha, I just made myself laugh. Cue Tom from Office Space. "I'm a people person, Dammit! I'm good with people! What is wrong with you?"
Yes, that was helpful.