Omega Thayer

Man, I am stressed 8 ways from Sunday. Pretty much been a constant stream of low-level anxiety for the last few weeks. I can feel it in my toes; it's like an electric current running through my body, scrambling my nerve functions, effectively paralyzing me. It's actually seriously affecting my work performance, which I suppose is the hallmark of an "actual problem," or it may simply be an indication that I'm not suited for this job at all, which is an even more terrifying proposition, given that at this point, I have no idea what else I could do that would net me a living wage.

Hence a sensation of containment builds around the stress, reflecting and enhancing it like the rays of a microwave. My job is good, but stressful, and requires a whole host of self-motivated and self-assured skills of which I have always lacked. I struggle, especially now that my territory's been extended. I am overwhelmed by minor responsibilities, such as contacting an account to set up an appointment to visit with samples. The implication (to my immediate mind at least) is that I am not fit for the position. Yet what job, of any quality, would be void of such stresses? A simpler, more conventional office job would replace the stress of free-form responsibility with the stress of interminable boredom. And any job that pays well requires heightened responsibilities and enhanced levels of self-motivation. Thus there seems to be no alternative for me other than to stick it out with my amazing, nerve jangling job. Yet I fear that my difficulties will scuttle that position, and I will be thrown back into the roiling sea of modern employment opportunity, grasping at planks, doomed to a watery grave of perpetual retail employment with my nose bobbing just above minimum wage.