The Struggle Bus

Finding balance between weekdays and weekends is one of my ongoing struggles. I typically work five days a week, sometimes six or seven, depending on what’s going on, and honestly, it’s burning me out. I’ve been here since August 2023, and the lack of progress is frustrating—too often, I see adults acting like children instead of focusing on the mission.

On top of that, my daughter is also struggling to find her own balance, and right now, the only way I can really help is financially. I’d love to be closer to her, and if I could work in Florida, I’d get the added bonus of being near the beach—win-win, right? The more I reflect on my life, the more I realize I want to be somewhere warm, near the ocean. So, I’ve started applying to jobs in Florida here and there, just to see what happens.

February 21, 2025 – Snow day, so I’m working from home. This might be the last snowfall, with warmer temperatures on the way.

This week had its struggles. After 19 months in this job, it feels like nothing has changed—still the same fighting, arguing, and nonsense.

It’s been nine months since Mom passed, and that empty space is still there. At least I don’t cry every day anymore—that’s something. It’s strange, really. Mom and I never had deep conversations, but I always knew she was there if I needed her. Same with Dad. We only started having real talks a few years ago. Now, with Mom gone and Dad getting older, the thought of losing him too is hard to imagine.

Dad wants me to get along with my sister, but she’s mean and selfish. I don’t see how that changes.

Today started off pretty smoothly—just the usual work stuff, people confused about what the report means, asking the same questions. Nothing new, I’m used to it. But, of course, there’s always that one person who jumps the gun and starts drama. I get a text about a document I only sent to the two people who decide what goes in it. So, I had to hit back with, “Hold up, Sparkles. I sent it to the people in charge of what goes in there. If you didn’t read it and add your own ‘important’ stuff, that’s on you, not me. I didn’t send it to everyone, so talk to the one who did.”

Let’s talk about the joys of getting things fixed in an apartment complex. In mine, you just use an app to report the problem, and maintenance is assigned to handle it. Sounds simple, right? Spoiler alert: it’s not always that straightforward.

Three days ago, I reported that my kitchen light fixture had died. In a medium-sized one-bedroom apartment, losing the kitchen light is more than a minor inconvenience—it’s a serious annoyance. Normally, I make sure I’m not home when maintenance comes because I’d rather avoid the awkward small talk. Just fix the issue and go, thanks. But when I am home, the maintenance guy acts like we’re best friends. For the record, I’m not a “people person,” and my list of “besties” is... let’s just say highly selective. LOL.

Fast forward to me sitting on the couch, trying to watch the Presidential inauguration, when there’s a knock at the door. Of course, it’s the maintenance guy, ready to fix the light—on a holiday, no less. I mean, sure, package deliveries on holidays make sense, but maintenance work? Really?

He walks in with two round light bulbs and says, “You need a new light fixture because I don’t have bulbs for this one.” I’m thinking, Okay, that doesn’t sound cost-effective, but if you want to replace the whole fixture instead of getting the right bulbs, who am I to argue?

He disappears and comes back with a new fixture, which looks nothing like the old one. The original was rectangular; this one is round. Whatever. To his credit, he checked the light switch four times to make sure it was off before starting. Safety first, I guess.

He climbs up the ladder, and all I can think is, Please don’t fall off that ladder—and for the love of all things decent, pull your pants up.

Then the narration begins. Not to me—to himself. He starts explaining every step of the process out loud, like he’s recording a DIY tutorial. Meanwhile, I’m trying to focus on work and the inauguration. Dude, read the room.

Finally, he gets the new fixture installed, but then he announces that he’s going to fill the ceiling holes left by the old fixture “to keep bugs out.” I’m like, Really, dude? I live in an apartment complex. Bugs are inevitable—roaches don’t care about ceiling holes.

After standing there watching my TV for a solid ten minutes, he turns to me and asks, “Do you have a broom to sweep the floor?” UGH. I tell him, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll vacuum when you’re done.” He says okay, leaves to grab supplies, comes back, fills the holes, and resumes his TV commentary while cleaning up the boxes and debris.

Some days, you wake up and it feels like you’ve got a one-way ticket on the struggle bus. Today is one of those days for me. I’m working from home because the snow and icy roads made commuting less than appealing. I looked outside, saw the weather, and decided staying in was the smart move.

The morning started like any other—took my meds, grabbed a peanut butter and grape jam sandwich, then hopped in the shower. But something feels off. I’m unfocused, unmotivated, and just... off. There’s no big reason, no obvious trigger—just one of those days. And let’s be real, it’s hard to feel productive when your mind’s on a scenic detour.

From my spot at the kitchen-slash-work table, I stare out the patio door. The snow is falling, and it’s honestly kind of pretty—until I remember I live in a housing complex. Sure, no shoveling is a huge perk (because I loathe it), but there’s something about living in an apartment complex that kills the cozy winter vibe. My brain, true to form, decides to wander: Maybe I should livestream the snowfall? Then the realist chimes in, Who’s going to watch me film snow with my neighbor’s building in the background?

And so, the internal dialogue continues: Focus. You’ve got podcasts to edit, a syllabus to review, and an article to write. Stop piling on distractions.

It’s a tough cycle to break. One thought leads to another, and before I know it, I’m wishing I lived somewhere snow-free, where I could slide the patio door open to fresh air that doesn’t feel like it’s straight from the Arctic. But here I am, trudging through the day.

Still, it’s okay to have days like this. The struggle bus doesn’t run forever. At some point, it slows down, and you can jump off, refocus, and tackle what needs doing.