My friend Melanie recently implied that I'd forgotten how to blog. And perhaps she's correct. I'm not feeling very creative. It seemed as though my blog had turned into a big, old vent. Complain, complain, complain. But then again, I started this blog as an extension of my spiral notebooks. And frankly, much of what I do in my notebooks is vent. It gets it off my chest and out of my mind, thus preventing some major dwelling. And me, I'm prone to dwelling. Besides, I'm quite sure there's no one left reading this little tiresome blog, so I might as well use it to my benefit.
I'm sure it will come as no surprise that I am still singing the same old tune. The "I HATE my job" tune. Because, to be honest, I hate every single thing about my job, except for the fact that I have my own office with a window and a door. Beyond that I hate everything I do, I hate "the company," and I hate my commute.
Another thing I hate is hand washing dishes. I bought a dishwasher so that I would never, ever have to hand wash dishes again. But I've found one time that I don't hate it, after finally getting home almost 11 hours after I left, after an excrutiating hour in the car, cursing at the drivers around me, with a throbbing, pounding headache from blasting the heat in an attempt to melt the giant blocks of ice from my windshield wipers. As I sit here typing on my laptop I keep realizing that my shoulders are clenched tightly up around my ears. Even after I force myself to relax them, they creep right back up.
I know some of you (I'm going to pretend I actually still have readers) are thinking to yourself, work isn't supposed to be fun, that's why it's called work. I understand that in theory and maybe I just don't have as strong a constitution as you all. Feel free to condescend all you want (to yourself or those around you), and I will continue to curse you out in the quietude of my little brain.
So I'm telling you this right now. I can't do this much longer. I will NOT be working at this job at this time next year. No matter what. So there. The end.