I woke up this morning well-rested. I ate a large breakfast. I laughed while perusing Texts From Last Night over my morning coffee. And it all went downhill from there. I was dreading it. I knew since 4:45 last Friday that I would dread Monday at 8:15 a.m. I have grown to begin loathing my job. Every moment spent thinking about work is full of dread, boredom, and dissatisfaction.
I am disgruntled. Why? I haven't gotten a raise in over 2 years - since I started. I have asked for a review, where I was told not right now, but remind them in a couple of months. That reminder came and went, and was tactfully avoided. Yet new people are being hired. Advantage is being taken of the new girl. They're throwing her into the role of "production coordinator" on top of already doing the job she was hired for (digital media... the two are completely unrelated). I'm not sure that she has any idea what she is doing.
I spent my afternoon reveling in the vision that is Brad Pitt's abs in Fight Club. Never have these words rang truer:
"Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won't. We're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."
I don't care about buying "things" so much as just wanting to be able to go out with friends and enjoy their company. Being able to attend my friend's bachelorette party in Phoenix. Being able to attend her wedding in Mexico. Unfortunately these are NOT simple pleasures but things that do require money. I want to pay off my fucking taxes that I've been slaving away with since June. The lift of that burden alone would do me a world of difference.
What would Tyler Durden do? He'd blow this janky excuse for an office up with a homemade explosive. But that doesn't really coincide with my general affection for not being incarcerated. So what else can I do? I don't know. Sit around and be pissed off I suppose.
I leave you with these words of wisdom: Shoving feathers up your ass doesn't make you a chicken.
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