I have spent about a decade and a half as a real, honest-to-goodness, working adult. In that time, I have stayed in the same general field of education, but have worked in four very different positions in two very different school systems.
And I have complained about every job I have had.
And, of course, at a certain point, I do have to ask whether it is the job that sucks or whether it just might be me.
It is an awfully shitty moment when, as a grown-up, you realize that it isn’t everyone and everything else out there that needs to be fixed. All the jobs in all the world can’t be awful. Maybe it ain’t the JOBS that are the problem.
So, what does one do when one is punched in the throat with the hot, sloppy mitts of Reality?
If “one” is “me,” then “one” makes inappropriate jokes, becomes sarcastic to a fault and hides behind the thin veil of snark and other condescention.
I don’t know about you, but I use humor as a defense mechanism. The problem with this is that everyone just thinks, then, that I am a snotty bitch. I, however, think that I am hilarious. I think I know how Joan Rivers must feel. If she can feel anything with all that plastic shit in her face.
See? There I go again.
I take that back. It does make me feel better. Plenty better, really.
But, it doesn’t make me HAPPY. And, I wonder what happiness IS, even. Not that I’ve never felt it, but I don’t know that I understand it in the way someone like John Stuart Mill or Martin Heidegger would have.
By the way, I am sure that my 200-level philosophy professor will come across this blog post one day and totally take back that “D” he gave me in 1996 because I referenced two dead guys above that I am sure he talked about in class. Or something. I don’t know. I was probably hung over.
Anywho, I am now on the hunt. I am in search of an explanation as to why I can’t settle my ass into a job, stay put for more than a handful of years, stop complaining about it, eventually retire and move to Tahiti already. I constantly feel unsettled. I feel as though I need to “find myself.” Whatever the crap that means. I question everyday what I am supposed to do with my life. Then I make a lame joke about it all.
So, if you are working in a field or at a place that is just amazeballs, I would love to hear about it. And, hear about when they’ll be interested in hiring a quirky misanthropic wannabe writer. If you identify with feeling a little lost (despite being all grown up and being of an age when you are totally supposed to have your shit all figured out), let me know I am not alone.
In the mean time, I think there are some bad drivers I haven’t flicked off yet today, so I better hop to it.