I'm Stressed Out, Man

I’m a high-stress individual. I stress out about everything. Little stuff, big stuff, stuff I have no control over, stuff I have control over, my stuff, your stuff, his stuff, her stuff… I stress about everything.

I don’t know if this is a function of my ultra-type-A personality, my distinct need for a vacation, or what, but it is certainly the case.

As usual, things are just not letting up for me.

I just bought this house I’m living in - my first house - and I’m still coming to terms with the additional financial burden it places on me as well as the general issues of home ownership. (Note to you “condo” people out there - this has nothing to do with the yard work and everything to do with the things that anyone deals with when not renting: taxes, mortgages, indoor maintenance, home improvement, etc.) It’s taking some time to adjust.

With that goes this bathroom situation. For the life of me, I can’t get a drywall contractor to call me back or be available. The ones who call back are booked for the next two months; the ones who aren’t booked are unreliable. Having no closure on this thing is killing me. I can do minor handiwork around the place, but when it comes to something larger like retexturing a wall, I’m not quite ready for it. So the bathroom sits in this near-unusable state of limbo, waiting for completion. I need it finished.

At work, I’m getting a crash course in being a manager. Over the course of the last week I’ve gotten two contractors in that generally report to me (technically they report to the project manager, but I’m the one assigning tasks and following up on them). I’ve never really had to deal with that aspect of development, and making sure they have enough to do, answer their questions, keep track of the project, and develop on the project (all the while interviewing other contractors for additional positions) is not something I was prepared for. I guess we all evolve to that point eventually, I just wasn’t prepared, you know?

Not only that, but I’m coming on a time where I have a career decision to make. I’ve pretty much topped out where I can go in the IT organization so I have to decide: Do I stay where I’m at and enjoy the various perks that go with being in IT (among those being a nice big cube - like double the size of other cubes, a good boss who’s also a great friend, and a reasonable amount of autonomy on projects) or do I do a somewhat-lateral shift over into the product development group where there will be more of a chance to grow (both professionally and financially)? I’m thinking I’ll be making the move, but pondering on that is a stressful thing, like getting a whole new job.

This morning on the way to work my “check engine” light came on. This happened a back in May, too (though in the server move I lost that blog entry). The first time, it was the oxygen sensor. Who knows what it is this time? They can’t get my car in until Tuesday, which, it being Friday now, is three days of waiting and “driving moderately” until I can get there. The dealer, of course, is on the other side of town (which means possibly two hours away, maybe more, in the morning), so I get to look forward to that come Tuesday. Not to mention the last time it was in, a whole bunch of other service (new brakes, etc.) had to be done, too, so it was an unexpected bill of several hundred dollars - right after moving into the new house. I can only anticipate what it’s going to be this time.

I won’t even get into the other moderate financial speedbumps (usually in the form of unexpected bills - things like having to purchase a washer and dryer when we moved in because we didn’t think about the fact we didn’t own those appliances) we’ve run into as of late. When it rains, it certainly pours.

So here I am, getting ready to phone screen another job applicant (which stresses me out because not only do I hate the phone, I hate talking to people I don’t know over the phone). That’s where it sits.

I suppose I had better get on with stressing about how to avoid cardiac arrest by this time next year.