Im twenty-six, and my wife tells me Ive got an issue I wont admit.
She brings it up every time I leave a job or when Im let go.
She says its not normalthe longest Ive ever held a position is six months.
And shes right.
Sometimes I last a month, sometimes barely two weeks, sometimes I dont even finish probation.
Ive done everything from maintenance work, cleaning, sweeping streets, scrubbing toilets, hauling boxes in warehouses.
I always start motivated, but after a few days, it becomes heavybody and mind.
Its not just exhaustion.
Its shame.
I didnt finish school, made it to Year Eleven and never went back.
When they hand me a vest, a broom, or a mop, I feel like I dont belong.
I watch the other ladsaccepting, just getting on with it without complainingand deep down I think, this cant be my life.
And then I start turning up late, slacking off, finding reasons to miss shifts.
Until one day, the manager calls me in and says, Dont bother coming back.
My wife doesnt get it.
Shes worked at a shop for four years.
It doesnt pay much, but its steady.
Every month she knows exactly what shell earn.
When I come home once again unemployed, she looks at me with anger and exhaustion.
Shell say, Its not the job thats the issue, its you.
You cant stick anything out. I tell her these jobs arent for me, Im made for something else, I wasnt born to clean bathrooms all my life.
That makes her even angrier.
She tells me to finish school, learn something, get a qualification.
Reminds me no ones going to hire me for something else without even a certificate.
I promise Ill do it, but the months slip by and I never enrol.
Theres always an excuseno money, no time, maybe later.
Truth is, Im scared of going back to school as an adult, sitting next to younger students, feeling left behind.
At home, its become a routine.
We argue about the same thing, over and over.
She says I live in dreams, pretty words but no action.
I tell her shes settled, gotten used to just surviving instead of truly living.
Sometimes we shout.
Sometimes we dont speak for days.
I go out again, CV folded in my pocket, and return disappointed after another, Well be in touch.
The worst part isI do dream.
I dream of having my own business, of not relying on anyone, of not feeling embarrassed in a uniform.
I dream of getting up early for something I own, not to take orders.
But dreams dont pay the rent or buy groceries, and she reminds me every day.
Do I really have a problem I refuse to admit, or am I simply allowed to hope for something greater?
