I like the nightlife, and I do in fact like to boogie.

Two posts in one day! My goodness. Well, the last one covered today, but not last night, so I feel the need to purge a little more.

For the record, I'm currently in pyjamas, one drink in, newly painted nails that I'm trying not to chip as I type. I haven't painted my nails since I had my falsies removed in August, and I came across an old picture where I thought "hmm, I really liked that colour." Turns out, it's the only colour I own, but I did three coats and now I'm waiting the obligatory 45 minutes before I can actually touch anything. Apparently my nails are now "Royal Rajah Ruby". I think it looks more like "blood clot red" but I guess that's not as glamorous.

Countdown three weeks until I'm off medical EI, and therefore the pressure for employment has begun. I have thought about this... a lot. What else do I have to do, really. I thought about my past years of employment, from the age of 17 to present. This is the first time since I got my first job straight out of high school that I have been literally - unemployed. No workplace to speak for. It's been scary and liberating, and I'm attempting to see the positive in all of this.

I have sent a few resumes in. One for a casual position that relates to my BSW, and two that do not relate to my degree. No response on all accounts.

I've been thinking a lot about what I want from my life, both short and long term. Sometimes I read over some of my blog entries to take a look at what things I've valued, what times have been good for me, what times haven't. I've been thinking a lot about what I need to both pay my bills but keep me well.

Last night I took a trip to the old night club where I used to work. It has since then changed names and (some) staff. I spent four solid years of my life there, working full time for most of it, part time while I was in school. If those walls could talk, the stories they would tell. I fell in love in that bar. I danced my heart out, drank too much, made so many connections with so many good people. I felt free to express myself through fashion, and I was a very, very good waitress. That being said, I also had my heart broken. I watched my lovers betray me, I had recent exes parade their new and prettier girls past me while I had to stay composed and serve. I sobbed in the arms of my manager in the office, too many times to count. It was the first place I went when broke up with my fiance, searching out my friend and crying into his coat in full view of the people I served. I dragged abusive men out by their collars and kicked one of them out the door in the back with my knee-high boots. I worked all night and went home in time to get my mother up and feed her breakfast, two hours after falling asleep in my clothes on the couch, make-up smudged all over my face.

Last night I met up with the owner of the bar and asked him if he would consider hiring me for... well, whatever they need - part time, on call, what have you. I specifically requested work as a waitress, because (while I was thoroughly trained and experienced on the bar) I never really felt at home except for when I had a tray in my hand.

I never thought I would ask for bar work again. I never thought I would sit here, worrying that I wouldn't be able to get work after requesting it, because I never thought I'd care enough to apply for a job that I spent studying my way out of. But here's the thing.

I need time off. I need time away from the clinical atmosphere of my last job. I want to spend a bit of time (before going back, because I plan on it) working at night and sleeping in the mornings when I'm most haunted by depression. I want to do my hair crazy, paint my nails, dress up and ask 200 people what they would like to drink. I want to know that when I walk out the door at the end of the night, that nobody's treatment referral is waiting on my desk. That I haven't just submitted a suicide risk assessment report and gone home wondering if there's going to be a voicemail for me at work the next day saying that the person in fact succeeded. And I am ashamed to admit ALL of that. Really... ashamed.

The whole reason I put myself through school is because I wanted to know that what I did, by my standards, was supporting change. Big or small. What I have come to realize, however, is that the only way I can be there to support or facilitate that change is by knowing who I am, what I want, and how to take care of myself. Maybe every once in a while, I'll have to take off a year. Dress up, serve drinks, socialize. So why do I feel so badly recognizing that it's what I may need? I fell like in admitting all this, my vanity (is it vanity, or sanity?) comes before the well-being of my community.

Food for thought for me, anyways.

Goodnight,
PS