I am not my job

[katiefoolery]

Firstly, an apology and a thank-you to anyone to whom I angsted about my job these past few days.  You’ve helped me more than you could know, just by sitting there and being pushed closer and closer to your boredom threshold by hearing my litany of work-related woes.  I probably make it sound as though I do nothing but sit on the internet at work all day, having fun - but it’s not true.  Well, not any more. :p  And I wouldn’t need to do it at all if I didn’t live in the wrong hemisphere.  At least with Ober.net, the majority of the people are Australian and it was easy to wait until after work to interact with them.  But I’m one of only about three Australians at the Salon and the best time to be online and interacting with people just so happens to be while I’m at work.

But I guess I’ll just have to take what I can and live for my long weekends, where I can have as much fun as I want.

Truly, the lack of distraction now available to me only serves to remind me how tedious and unnispiring this job really is.  Which brings me to the title of this post: I am not my job.  The good Gill mentioned this to me and at the time, I thought that it wasn’t a necessary thing to say.  Surely I wasn’t thinking that?  But it turns out the good almost-doctor knows more about me than I do myself.  By Saturday, I was already becoming miserable about returning to work.  Saturday morning.  With two full days of laziness ahead of me, I was already despondent about Monday.  Luckily, I had plenty to distract me.  For instance, receiving PMs full of exclamation marks and excessive praise certainly goes a long way towards making me feel fantastic about things.

But every now and then, the looming spectre of Monday would pop up and lurk darkly in the background, mocking me with its very existence.

Until I got to Sunday and grew heartily sick of it.  It was at this point that Gill’s words came back to me.  I’m not my job.  I’m much more than my job and I won’t let it ruin my weekends with its stupid lurking and posturing.  So I told it what it could do (and I wasn’t polite at all) and got back to enjoying my weekend.

Mind you, I was just out there in the library ten minutes ago, millimetres away from banging my head against the shelves in bored frustration, but I think I’ll be able to cope.  It’s just what I do so I can have the money to live in a nice house and enjoy my fast internet, right?  And it doesn’t define me or have the right to ruin my fun.

I’d use this time for writing if all the stories in my head weren’t so damned...  Hmm, how do I put that?  “Less than pure”?  There’s no way I’m going to use a work computer to write any of them.

Comments

[katiefoolery.livejournal.com]

It's very good at it, too. Cursed work and its incredible competence at LOOMING.