i would hate my job.
this part of my life, at least, has been easy.
i know what i wanted to do at fifteen.
i got the grades i needed to enter the program at a good university.
i didn't bust my ass in uni (but i can't regret this),
because somehow i did learn a lot about other things:
i'm not a closed up clam anymore.
i'm not the genius at chemistry like i was at sixteen.
i'm not even that good at my work anymore, like a year ago.
a year ago..
i was passionate, driven, hardworking.
i loved my job and loved busting my ass at it.
i loved being good at something, for once in my life.
i'm not a good daughter, not a good friend.
i'm not even a good person sometimes.
but i was good at what i do.
it keeps my feet on the ground.
work gave me a purpose in life.
even though i still look forward to weekends,
i never dread mondays.
i never expected to hate my job.
i expect my job to be boring me to death on some days,
but i never thought i'd hate it.
i'm still not a good daughter, still not a good friend.
i'm still not a good person.
and worse, work doesn't help keep me sane anymore.
my job doesn't help me point out my place in this world anymore.
yes, i married my work.
because work is unfeeling and i can't possibly hurt it,
but it can surely hurt me.
and i'm fine with that.
stability and predictability are fine by me.
i need a sense of purpose, again.
i need a reason to wake up 5 days a week
i need a reason to drive an hour to work
i need a reason to sit on a desk for 40 hours a week,
i need a reason to do all this,
other than the fact that i need to earn a living.
i need to love my job again.
but before i can figure out how to do that,
i'm going to spend every free hours that i have
watching and rewatching grey's anatomy,
reading novels and books that i own way too much,
google about things like 'reasons behind marijuana legalization'
watch youtube videos about world history
search for more songs to love
love more fictional boys
and generally, just
avoiding the core issue of the matter.