It’s been a hell of a week. I can take the stress of deadlines and last minute projects because they are few and far between until this past week. On a good work week, my workload will average between 20 and 40 color-up requests. That does not include getting orders ready to be printed. This week I managed 152 color-up requests, an emergency banner (that needed to be completed within 8 hours to make the printer deadline) and an emergency handout that needed to be printed and ready to go within 24 hours. Then there was the imprint work for uniforms, approval forms, and they also needed me on the floor to help print.
Understand, I was a blue collar worker before my graphic design job. I was raised by a roughneck oil field worker. He taught me that nothing in this world is free and if I want something I have to work for it. So, I worked hard in college while working two jobs, three kids, a house to run then a divorce from my abuser. I maintained a 4.0 GPA and paid my dues. I worked odd design jobs and internships before landing where I am today. So when they asked me to go on the floor I did just that. I left the floor when I saw that the employees that were supposed to be too busy to print were talking, laughing, drinking coffee and checking phones. I refused to be used like that. I cranked out my order of 160 and went back to cave. There I was met with more work 15 minutes before I was to clock out and leave for the weekend. I decided that I would take my time. I was mentally exhausted to the point I had a headache, eyes were aching, 3 major panic attacks, one crying meltdown, and physical exhaustion. It took everything I had to write my short stories and doodle.
My husband listened to what was going on which helped a lot. He encouraged me to write more after telling him about submissions and what I wanted to do and what I am doing. I realized work was the reason why I was in a funk. I’m looking forward to this weekend. I will be doing some much-needed self-care. I will write, paint, read, and rest.