Passions and Indifference.

It's Friday.

It's middle May and I am plaughing through my life one screen at a time.

The last 3 years have been an incessant head-noise.

My ears have been so full of the hum of busy days, that I have barely had time to assess what's happening.

Life is nothing, if not always full of surprises.

Three years ago, I started working at a charity.  What started as a small piece of input turned into something amazing - something I really loved.

Through working up a sweat two nights, three nights, sometimes five nights a week after work, after long days at home with sick kids, after spending days fretting about finances, after arguments with the husband, after workplace bullshit, I found friendship, love and even confidence.

What began as something which was only supposed to be a dip-in-and-out, a break from daily grind, a chance to work of some of my excess frustrations with other aspects of my life turned into a passion and a duty which I was proud to carry.

I gave up my time, my heart and my soul.

And as always, when I enter so thoroughly into some kind of devilish contract - the one that operates loosely and without any tenure.  One that my heart takes control of way over my head...

My passion bit me on the bum.

Things changed and I found myself naturally pushed out as things progressed.  Suddenly, I'm in that all-too-familiar situation of being left out in the cold.

I feel like I've had a really horrible break up - or my best friend has ghosted me.

Suddenly, I can't share the posts from the charity looking for help.

It's ridiculous.

I feel lost.

I've had to pretend to myself it doesn't exist without me - which I am hating, because it does and I so really want to be a part of it.

It's sink or swim time for my passions.

Every time one gets destroyed I feel a little harder, a little colder.

Life is full of disappointment.  Why do I take them so personally?

I think it's because I constantly do the hokey cokey - I always put my whole self in.

I gave up the one job I loved the most in the whole wide world for the one I have now.  And it's odd. I could have talked all day about the merits of the library, I could have made even the most dispassionate person interested in books, I loved nothing more than inspiring young readers and organising the library.

Passion, passion, passion.  Heart-bursting-with-joy passion.

And now?

I've become someone I don't recognise.  I'm not thrilled, I'm pro-active and hard-headed. I'm enjoying the challenge.  I am being a manager.

I'm working harder and more efficiently. I'm tougher. 

Is this who I am now?

Like being disappointed by someone constantly over time, I have become the opposite of love - I have become indifferent.

And it's such a dull and empty feeling.

Protective, maybe?

I'm so fed up of being hurt that I've become indifferent.

If I cared, I would have to face up to the fact that there are people out there who would kill my passion without a thought and leave me heartbroken.  Which is a rough thing to do to someone.

God - do I ever do that to anyone?

I hope not.

I seem to be the common denominator: a silly wee lassie with her heart on her sleeve.

As for this job, I suppose I am wary. So wary of my passions.  My ability to be hurt.

I can track it back to so many things.

Have I ever fit in?  Will I ever have a 'safe' group?

I thought I'd found it.

And again, here I am - on the outside, looking in.