fuck the man

i don’t like working.

i don’t mind doing things which are work, but the getting up at 5 a.m. every morning, putting on pants, driving to a building which isn’t my house, spending 8.5 hours (soon to be 10.5 hours) of my day under fluorescent lights having to make idle chit chat with mostly strangers just because we’re all suck in the same box together for 1/3 of our lives?  nope.  HARD nope.

i miss my cats and my freedom and the ability to spend all day reading sewing blogs or making lists or deep cleaning the showers or slow-cooking a pot of spaghetti sauce while reorganizing the pantry or sewing another Linden sweatshirt or having three naps because i’m just that tired today, dammit.

2017 has not been good for my work ethic.  between vacation and recovery, i was off work for almost four months.  actually, yeah.  almost exactly four months. that’s a third of this year.  and every time i’ve had to return, it’s been harder than the time before.

i’d rather be at home helping Brad with his social media presence for the business. or working on some creative endeavour of my own.  or, hell, even working part-time in a fabric/sewing store where i could geek out on the things i actually WANT to do instead of the things i’m TOLD to do.

don’t get me wrong, my job does not suck.  it really, really doesn’t.  but, it’s not what i LOVE.  it’s fine.  i get paid very well and i have a shocking about of autonomy for a administrative wage slave, but…  sigh.  yeah.  i daydream and lust after a creative and unstructured life of making and learning and sharing and exploring. but, someone has to keep the lights on and the freezer stocked and that’s up to me these days.

i don’t have to like it, but i do have to do it.