One layer

A number of terms have been tossed around which I find more confusing when used by other people to describe certain aspects of me than when I examine them in an attempt to understand myself.

It is cold, and I am constantly reminding myself that a moment ago I was not sad, and nothing has changed. Therefore my mind is making me sad, or I am making myself sad. Some of the time this is effective. The rest of the time- including now- I accept it and wait.

Sloughing off the job I've just left, in the sense of the way in which I envision my life in general, feels somehow both significant and superficial. A small but vital improvement, since it was growing increasingly difficult for me to cope with everything it entailed: the confusion of supervisors, the disorganization, the screams and threats and abuse from patients and staff alike, the incessant and ridiculous dependence of co-workers on me for knowledge they never bothered to acquire, the apparent expectation that I would train a far-better-compensated man to do my job so that he could tell me I was doing my job incorrectly, and so very much more. The load is slightly lessened; most of those things are not factors in my new position.

Hope is present, even if I can't see it clearly.