Yesterday, I did an interview with a Greek newspaper yesterday. The article was meant to be published tomorrow, but guess what?
Tomorrow, in Greece, the journalists are going on strike.
As some of you know, I'm currently writing a book. Not about what happened in Athens specifically, but about the year I spent in Europe, which of course Athens was a part of. Other, way happier stuff happened too, and while I've been working on the book for a couple of years, I'm now in the midst of tackling it full time, with the hopes of having it completed by Christmas.
But today, for whatever reason, when I heard about the journalists, I fell apart. Just cried and cried, like a little kid, sniffling and snotting and everything. Not about the journalists, you understand. Not about the story not being in the paper tomorrow. In fact, I don't really know about what. I think it's all just starting to catch up with me.
I'm exhausted. I am so, so tired of dealing with this. Tired of doing it day in, day out. Tired of not being able to just wake up in the morning, sit down, and do my work. Tired of having to hash and rehash the most horrible thing that's happened to me, and answer e-mails, and scan documents with my signature, and give my passport number and my father's name, and beg for answers. Tired of losing my appetite, and my hair. Tired of becoming more and more aware that I am dealing with a country that seems to have, on the whole, very little interest in justice.
Unfortunately, as a writer, I don't have access to stress leave. Which is why I've been trying to keep working, no matter how bad things get. But today, I've made the decision:
I'm on strike, too.
Just for the afternoon, but I reserve the right to continue on into tomorrow. As Charlie Brown would say, I just can't stand it anymore. No more answering the phone. No more e-mails or rehashing. If I had a sign, it would say "Piss off".
Although according to the laws of my union, I reserve the right to change that as the day progresses.