09.25.04
6:54 p.m.
it could be worse
Today, as I was cleaning up bile acid with chunks of undigested chocolate (wrappers included), I thought: Damn. I hate my job.I have been urinated on, defecated on, vomited on, and bitten today; all by the same dog.
It made me think.
About how I don�t need this job. About how I don�t get paid nearly what I�m worth. How I take everyone�s constant condescension. I thought about how I listen to clients tell me, not only about their current personal problems, but that I�m an inept idiot and I�m purposely trying to add to their problems by charging them for services rendered.
And then, it hit me.
I am one of the select few people on this planet that can honestly say I don�t hate my job. Sure, there are days when I�d rather stay at home - days when I�m just going through the motions. And days, like today for example, where I wouldn�t be opposed to an excruciatingly painful death if only it would end the workday. (Although, that could be chalked up to PMS.) But overall, I�m not unhappy with my job.
I could be working as a cashier, a telemarketer, a tour guide, a janitor, or any other menial position reserved for the �uneducated�. My life could be a lot worse. I know this because I�ve done all of those jobs.
At least I enjoy this job 89% of the time.
So, when you go to work tomorrow, or Monday, and you think: I hate this job. That you can�t take another second in your office, and you have this voracious urge to flee, take a second and reflect. It could be worse.
You could be cleaning up vomit with your one good hand, soaking wet with urine, smelling of anal glands, all while on the phone setting an appointment with a client whose screaming kids are in the background. On a Saturday.
Now, I�m freshly showered and headed back for round two.
See, your life isn�t so bad.
