I've reached that point where even complaining about work from the second I wake up in the morning and fall asleep again at night is not enough time to explain how much I totally hate and am completely consumed by my job. Which is probably why I've been dreaming about work lately. Even in my sleep, I can't get away.

There have only been a couple of things in the past that have totally taken over my life like this. This short list includes: 1) an abusive relationship when I was fifteen and 2) my thesis. I can't break up with my job.

And when I consider the similarities of my current job and the other two things on the all-consuming-annoying-crap list, it comes down to this: I'm not being paid enough. Because 1) one of the other items is that I wrote a freaking thesis and shouldn't be working retail anyway and 2) the first item on this list eventually led to two years of therapy, which I could never afford to do again.

There's this great book called The Pharmacist's Mate in which Amy Fusselman talks about how her dad's death is so important and always on her mind that she feels like naming her son "My Dad Is Dead" would be appropriate. That's how I feel. Whenever anyone asks how I am, even in that way strangers ask without wanting an answer, I want to say, "I hate my job."

"Hey, how's it going?" "I hate my job."

"Would you like hot sauce with this?" "No, my job is driving me crazy."

"How's work?" "How can you be so insensitive? You creep!"

I have to pull myself together.

Oh. Yeah. By the way. I hate my job.

Labels: work.

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