The Over-Educated Nympho

One week from Monday I’m transferring to another department in my office. I’m really really hoping this helps with the I hate my job problem.

This problem? It’s getting really bad. It’s like every other thought in my head is I hate my job or I’m so bored I want to scream.

Today was especially bad. Before I arrived at the office, I was already dreading the eight hours I would have to sit like a good little worker-monkey in my cubicle and pretend to give a fuck. I’m not good at faking it. Apparently the hissing gives me away.

Here was my day:

get coffee I hate my job drink coffee I hate my job read email I hate my job answer emails I hate my job open files on computer I am so bored read files on computer I am so bored discuss files with boss I am so bored revise things in files I am so bored AND IT’S ONLY NINE FUCKING THIRTY IN THE MORNING.

Oh fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck FUCK.

Similar to the question that I tried to find out myself so many times while growing up, How many licks does it take to get to the tootsie-roll center of a Tootsie Pop?, now I find myself wondering, How many times in one day do I think “I hate my job” ?

It must be in the thousands.

I prefer the questions that plagued my existence as a child with a sweet tooth than this one that haunts every work day. I’m hoping that the new position will lower the I hate my job count into the mere hundreds. That’s easy enough to tackle with limited amounts of wine and chocolate. When the count reaches the thousands like it has recently, Xanax and copious amounts of wine and chocolate become necessities. Oh yes AND SOME SEX WOULD HELP. I’d probably stop hissing whenever someone walks by.

Today one of my soon-to-be-coworkers saw me in the break room and said “So I heard you’re joining our department, eh?” and we started talking. He told me a bit more about the accounts I’ll be working on, and exactly what they’ll be training me to do–I’m so starved for stimulation that all of this sounded somewhat exciting. Please note that I use that word very loosely. Loose like a Jersey crack whore trying to make rent.

Did I mention that I have a special song I sing in my head when I’m especially bored? It goes like this:

I am so bored
la la la la
I am so bored
la la la la
(repeat ad infinitum i.e. ad nauseam)

The point is that the painfully lame song is less boring than whatever it is I’m actually doing. Depending on how impressionable your coworkers are, if you sing this out loud they will eventually find themselves humming it of their own volition, and then they will hate you and that will provide some short-lived entertainment from the previous state of boredom.

What I’m getting at with this boring and mildly pointless post is that I really hope this new job makes me hate my career choice a little less, otherwise I’m just fucked.

I work at one of the best firms in my industry–prestigious reputation, competent people, good benefits, wide range of accounts, good salary, room to advance–and it still bores the piss out of me. This new position I’m taking in just over a week feels like the make-it-or-break-it chance. If I can’t enjoy what I do here, I probably won’t enjoy it anywhere. It’s the same reluctance I felt about leaving my ex-boyfriend: if I can’t make it work with such a nice guy, will I ever be able to be happy with any guy? It’s scary. Makes you wonder if there’s something wrong with you.

Yes, I know I’ve been saying for ages that I don’t want to work in this field anymore, that I want to write instead. But I still want the safety net of this career in case. In case the writing doesn’t work out. In case years from now I need a job that makes money and I don’t have the body to strip. Or in case I realize ten years from now that I made a huge mistake.

I doubt that will be the case, but still. I want to be able to say I tried my damndest to make it work, and it still never made my panties wet with excitement. You’ve gotta go where your passion leaves a wet spot.