The Over-Educated Nympho

I just finished writing my last post about how I don’t feel the love for my job and wouldn’t it be oh so cool to be a writer? Ok, I didn’t say THAT specifically, but in hindsight I should have, because I’ve been thinking for ages how cool it would be to take my writing professionally, writing articles, or a column on sex and relationships, book reviews, short stories, eventually a novel…. Can you tell that this is what I daydream about every day when I’m bored shitless at work at my nice dull respectable job?

So right after I finished writing about how I don’t like my job that much, I checked my email and saw that a publicist for a publisher had contacted me and asked if I would review a new book on my blog. I emailed her back and said I would (I already checked out the book’s website to make sure it sounded interesting) and to keep me in mind for future book reviews. Happy happy joy joy, right?

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Today was my six-month anniversary of working at this office, my first real, non-internship, 401(k)-holding, post-grad school job.

So I called in sick to work and felt sorry for myself all day by refusing to get out of bed except to watch tv and eat oreos.

I don’t exactly hate my job, but I don’t love it either. I don’t jump out of bed, eager to go to work and prove myself as a valuable member of society. It takes me three snoozes, two dogs walking over my face, and my boyfriend threatening me before I get out of bed to go to work.

Is it possible to be having my mid-life crisis, like, twenty years early? Wouldn’t that make it my quarter-life crisis?

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