Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Stress Relief Devices...

Along with new cars come new insurance policies, fill-ups on gas, and all sorts of other nifty odds and ends, that happen to necessitate the dinero. So, what does a girl like me do? Goes and complains to her boyfriend who, in turn, twists her arm to apply for the great new job that he just got, which she does, and consequently, ends up with.

Well. What is this second job, you ask? A sales representative for Vector Marketing Corporation (Since 1981), demonstrating and selling CUTCO (Since 1949) cutlery, flatware, garden tools, and sporting knives.

So what's my problem?
  • Am I going to actually make any more money at this job?
  • Income directly reflects how many appointments one gets/how much merchandise one sells.
And I have no worries that I will be able to communicate with people (especially after training),
  • but what if they just aren't interested?
  • What if the economy is too bad to sell?
  • What if I do poorly and I waste my time and gas?
  • There's a lot at stake with a sales job... it's not necessarily a steady income.
Now, I'm not quitting my other job of course, but that almost makes things worse.
  • When am I going to have time to have a summer?
  • I have to have at least about 2 appointments a day Monday through Friday to make good pay... and that's on top of my Gold's Gym job.
And with so many questions and concerns, of course what's the first thing I do? Stress the hell out about it. It's a serious issue. I worry entirely too much. Of course there's nothing I can do about it now. So what am I thinking about it for? If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. I quit, and move on. Oh well, I tried it... but it's just not for me. And if it works, well great! I've done something new and become successful at it. So why let myself be stressed. I just don't need that right now. Of course, this is more for me right now than anything. It's just the way that I work. It's honestly a problem that I'm trying really hard to remedy... and I figure if I just keep telling myself this that eventually it'll get through.

Maybe I'll remember this in the days to come. If not, it's documented... so there's proof that I was sane at one point.

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