"Work is the refuge of people who have nothing better to do" - Oscar Wilde
I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me that am on the worst day of my life.
One of the saddest things is that the only thing that a man can do for eight hours a day, day after day, is work. You can't eat eight hours a day nor drink for eight hours a day nor make love for eight hours—all you can do for eight hours is work. Which is the reason why man makes himself and everybody else so miserable and unhappy?"
It's not just about me and my dream of doing nothing; we don't have a lot of time on this earth! We weren't meant to spend it this way. Human beings were not meant to sit in little cubicles staring at computer screens all day, filling out useless forms and listening to eight different bosses drone on about mission statements
So that means that when I make a mistake, I have eight different people coming by to tell me about it. That's my only real motivation is not to be hassled, that and the fear of losing my job. But you know, that will only make someone work just hard enough not to get fired.
It was true that I didn’t have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, brush teeth and hair, dress, force-feed and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?”
Our job consists of basically masking contempt for the assholes in charge, and, at least once a day, retiring to my room so I can rest while I fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble Hell.
What if I told you insane was working forty hours a week in some office for fifty years at the end of which they tell you to piss off; ending up in some retirement village hoping to die before suffering the indignity of trying to make it to the toilet on time? Wouldn't you consider that to be insane?
We are those people who worked shitty jobs for bum pay checks and took the subway to work every day, and worried about our bills. Blink. Ten years have passed and you’re left wondering, how did I get here? In this cubicle? Doing something I cannot stand (and I’m not even honestly good at), with people I quite frankly don’t really care about?
It’s hard to walk away. But hey, if it pays well and the bills get paid, shouldn’t that be enough? And shouldn’t I just be grateful to even have a job in this economic climate?
Yes it should, and yes I should. But what happens when the answer is no and no? What happens when the “I didn’t know what to do” escalates into “I still don’t know what to do” or “I don’t know what to do, but all I know is I don’t want to keep doing this”?
Sigh. It’s back to my cubicle for now, brushing these things aside and being thankful that I even have a cubicle to go to.