For me it usually starts on the second day of Rosh Hashanah and then mixes with the general heaviness of Kippur, and in Sukkot it is already depression as usual, including existential anxiety, emotional eating and general neglect.
You may think I'm exaggerating, but the other day the little one scolded me for dyeing my roots.
Theoretically, the children could be blamed, and if possible, then why not?
But the point is that this is an old tradition of the Tishrei holidays, which started somewhere when I was single: a kind of futility, a kind of anguish that starts in the stomach and slowly climbs to the throat.
It took me a few years to understand why I'm always depressed during the Tishrei holidays, until the token fell to me: the phone doesn't ring, the WhatsApp doesn't beep, there are no emails accumulating in the email box that need to be addressed.
The world has forgotten me.
again.
And to be precise, most of the world has forgotten me again, I do receive text messages from Benny Gantz.
The thing is, I can't really complain, although my year starts in November and ends in July, but all this time I am applauded continuously.
Then comes Tishrei, and apart from the dust festival in the Hefer Valley or the Yavushim conference at the Biennale, no one applauds me.
Not about the songs, not about the fact that I flossed my teeth, not about the fact that I cleaned an entire bottle of shampoo that spilled on the floor, silence.
All the servants and dalits and rinats from human resources are on vacation until Simchat Torah.
And although it happens every year, we - me and my ego, as well as the bank manager - still haven't learned to deal with the fact that no one is looking for us during the holidays.
Yesterday I received a message from my cute producer, after an innocent week that we didn't talk, I was so happy until I realized that she just wanted to ask how I was, yup.
Then comes the anxiety, the worst hospice in the Sukkah.
Because if the phone doesn't ring now, it might not ring again.
Why would he ring?
Why did he ever ring?
Maybe this strange adventure had finally come to an end, maybe my mother was right and I should have learned a trade?
But I'm 42 years old and I don't know how to do anything and my children are already really used to eating three meals a day and for God's sake, why did we move to such an expensive apartment?
Why in Tel Aviv?
What's wrong with Ma'at Tarshiha?
Why wasn't I born a man?
Maybe that's how they would invite me to Silyot shows?
I guess I'm not the only one, and there are quite a few freelancers who climb the walls during the holidays.
Of course, it is important to separate the self-employed from the kind that you don't really need (artists, therapists, designers, producers, etc.), and the self-employed from the kind that you always need (electricians, plumbers, locksmiths, and nail builders), but none of us have vacation days, sick days, or holiday vouchers. .
Just a song in the heart, fire in the eyes and a childish belief that no one should tell us what to do.
I know that November will come and life will get back on track, the phone will ring again and I'll go back to resenting having to wear heels too many nights a week.
I know, because that's what happened in my previous 15 years in the profession, and still, unlike an air conditioner installer, when my phone doesn't ring, I conclude that I'm a bad, arrogant and untalented person and I don't have a job because I shouldn't have a job, now or ever. And it would be better for everyone if I were a bus driver, which is both green and essential, and I would get to hear the music I want and not Alma Zohar's "Two Indians" for the 54th time in a row, because the baby gets angry every time the song ends (for the information of the reader, A. Zohar : It's a great song and he justifiably loves it).
I will no longer change professions.
In my faults, I really love what I do and in the general calculation it's probably worth everything, but if someone can convince me that everything will be fine and maybe also some kind of sticker, or a small "well done" on the lunch box I made for the girl for kindergarten?
Nevertheless, I cut the cucumber into a star shape for her.
shishabat@israelhayom.co.il
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