Friday, August 17, 2012

Here is where I bitch.

You know your life is sad when the highlight of your work day is when you blindly grab a handful of envelopes, only to have chosen exactly the number you need.

I'm like a motherfucking receptionist savant.

I am not a fan of my job, have I mentioned that?

I really shouldn't complain. I have a job, which is more than a lot of people can say in this economy. And said job pays my bills (barely), and it's a mere .8 miles from my apartment which means my commute is basically one song long. And the people are nice. I get free Diet Coke. I can wear jeans.

And it's easy. So mind-numbingly, soul-suckingly easy. For the first six months or so, this was a good thing. A marvelous thing! So much time to surf the Internetz. So little responsibility. I am paid to sit still, look pretty, clean up after everyone and feed the office. Yes, much like a French maid.

But now, after a year and a half here, I fear my brain is rotting. I fear I have lost any ability to think critically, work hard, take on a challenge. I have no more drive. I have no more work ethic. I don't give a shit about anything. I feel useless, stuck, helpless. I answer the phone. I file. I feed. I smile.

I am incredibly unhappy.

It's been so bad these last few days. Anytime I return to this place after a brief vacation into the world, I'm reminded of just how much it sucks. I've tried to feed my emptiness and misery with all the snacks I stock in our kitchen, but that only makes it worse of course. And then I feel worse. And then I eat. Vicious cycle.

I burst into tears the other day at my desk.

I'm so jealous of people who found something they're passionate about, and get to do it for a living.  Of course, the problem is that I don't know what I want to do with my life, not really. I want to do something creative, something stimulating, something at least a little interesting. I want to do something that actually matters at the end of the day. I'd love to write or act or just talk for a living, I'd love to throw my life away and travel for a year, I'd love to go back to school, I'd love to just get the fuck out of here. 

Before I die.

I apply to anything and everything, but it's always the same. LinkedIn informs me that 24,388 people have applied to the job before me, and I'm sure at least half of them have fancier resumes. Every interview I get goes incredibly well, I think, and the feedback is always: "We loved you...but hired someone with experience." I don't get a call for 99.9% of the applications I send, because why would they respond? I have a useless liberal arts degree from a semi-decent school, a history of customer service and administrative work, and no unique skills.

I am just like everyone else.

For now, all I want in life is a new job that a) pays more b) uses my brain and c) doesn't kill my spirit bit by bit until all that's left is a shriveled haggard bitch.

That's not too much to ask, is it?

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