Tuesday, September 16, 2003

Shove it.

I think what makes this job so agonizing is the fact that I don't give a flying shit about it. I was abused at Kennedy Space Center, but I dearly loved the rockets that took off there, and so I stayed far beyond what was healthy for body or mind. No matter how badly I was treated, I knew that I was making a contribution to the space program, speck-sized though it may be. It's amazing what you can endure when your heart's invested.

Here, the marketing submittals go out, the grant applications come in, I am treated very well, and I dooooooooon't caaaaaaaaaaaaaare. (It sounds like I'm starring in a hostage video: "The engineers are treating me very well. I have been given a chair with wheels. There is a well-stocked Coke machine in the break room. I am permitted to call my family once a week. Their wastewater treatment plants are just, Allah be praised.") If I were teaching again--much as I squirmed against flaying those ungrateful little philistines into churning out a complete sentence--at least I would know that I was contributing to the education of a young mind. But nothing here matters to me. Nothing. I hate the work. I hate the politics. I hate the tile pattern in the 5th floor ladies room.

I drive home at night terrified. We're only given so many days on this good Earth, and while I know you can't always do what you want to, it's horrifying to contemplate the thought that so many hours of my life are wasted with this crap. I mean:

I just dropped off an organizational chart with one of the graphic artists with the information he needed to build it. Apparantly I didn't give him quite enough to fill out some sort of timechart or work order or something.

"Your initials?" he called as I thanked him and walked away.

I told him.

"I know what they are," he responded. "I was just making a point."

Okay then! Point taken: You're an asshole.

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