Day One hundred and seventy eight - No cure for the lonely

Getting that job offer, at that time, was not something that I had seen coming. Far from it, my pessimism made think I'd never work again. But... the offer was made, and though I had to go through another interview with the key account manager - which went really well, I thought - when I got the call that I would be starting my training, which would be about a month of it, I eagerly accepted. Could things be finally turning around for me? It seemed to good to be true - the work itself seemed challenging, but in a pretty good way; it seemed like it would be something very close to stress free; the pay seemed decent enough - and in all honesty, any pay back then would have seemed to me to be pretty decent.

And when I started my training, together with a bunch of people, including the stupid kid I almost throttled in my group interview - funnily enough, we'd get along famously well - I was still very wary of everytyhing. The previous year had all but destroyed me, my confidence had been shattered, my sanity on the threshold - a sure sign that I was far from well was that I sat down in my chair clinging on to my backpack, something that I would find out was the source of much amusement from a couple of the guys who I was doing training with, and who I disliked at once. Funnier still, we all eventuallly got along incredibly well too. 

But it wasn't easy for me, far from it. And because I was flat broke, I had to walk all the way there, and then back home. It was about an hour away from where I lived, and that was me walking at a steady pace. Now me, I like walking a lot, but I have to say that after a few days of doing this I was feeling absolutely exhausted. I had to do something about it. I had to do something I hated having to do - I had to borrow money. My dear friend Ysabel had already volunteered to lend me money should I need it, but I had graciously turned it down. Now I had no option, really. It would not be viable for me to do this for a whole month, so I borowed just enough to buy my bus pass - and that made all the difference.

My first few months at work, after my training got done, and I had moved on to the operation itself, were rather uneventful. I had what I thought was a pretty good schedule - I'd get in at 4 P.M. and work until midnight. It was perfect for me. I'd leave work, get home around 12:30, then I'd be awake until four or five a.m., wake up just around noon, go to the gym, go back home, and leave for work. I was getting better, I was feeling better, life was - dare I say it - good. What then could conspire to derail all this?