Job

I must confess: no matter how noble it may seem, I can't take your job seriously if you spend more than half your time at "work" drinking.

gotta have a job. gotta be a worthwhile, contributing member of society. gotta have an income to pay the damn bills and the rent and the groceries...

the profession I trained in doesn't want me any more and I'm not sure I want it either. but what else to do? find a soul-sucking minimum wage job somewhere, having to deal with horrible members of the public til I'm sick with anxiety?

...not that that would be much of a change from sitting at home and feeling sick with anxiety.

gotta have a job. can't not know what to do, can't want to check out of the whole damned dance.

but I do

Do what you love, love what you do.

This belief is the reason I am never going to get a fucking job. Nobody but the luckiest fuckers alive get to start with what they love.

I sigh, bored. No customers to wait on yet. I reach down, and tear the head off of a small girl. She was ugly anyway. But hey, it's part of my job here at the bookstore.

I look around, still no customers. I quarter a small bear cub and throw the peices away. Tearing apart the grandmothers gives me some remorse, but some of them are just too out of date.

Still no people. I sigh and continue with my meaningless task. With some relish, I tear apart a message about a father always being there. Yes, I've been assigned to tear apart old greeting cards. Not a particularly interesting task, but it keeps me busy.

... Anyway... Creepy monologues aside, my job is alright. Except I keep wanting to buy more books. And my schedule is just slightly different from everyone else in the house. So my mom expects me to go to bed pretty soon after I get home, and then wake up early, and work around the house untill I have to go to work... and then at work I work from 1-9. So I'm pretty much expected to be working from 8am to 9pm.... Lather rinse repeat. It's kind of annoying. Oh well.

I have you three nights a week. The other four, you're at work til the sun comes up and fall into bed the moment you get home. I have you three days a week. The other four you spend exhausted, sleeping in til 5 and aching and sore when you get out of bed.

Your boss is turning into an asshole, you serve drunken fuckwits til the wee hours and ten spend hours cleaning up after them. You get nothing but abuse from the owners, othing but longer hours from your manager, nothing but swearing and the threat of violence from your customers. You haven't been paid in two months.

You hate your job. I hate your job. It's taking you away from me when you're on shift and when you're not.

I wish you'd just quit.