(Drinking Boxing Roo Shiraz 2002 and listening to "Main Vein" by Jamiroquai)
Really now. How do I explain my uncanny ability to get shitty jobs? Granted, this one has qualities about it that are less shitty than others, but I hate it. I dread going to work, I have no sense of satisfaction when I leave work, and I still live paycheck to paycheck. It's the same damned thing as shoveling lattés at Starbucks or spraining my lumbar loading trucks at UPS. The only differences are:
-I use bigger words (cryoglobulinemia, granuloma annulare, or pleural effusion, for example)
-People, after asking what company I work for, don't find themselves forced to find charitable things to say
-I have more numerous and ominous-sounding opportunities to fuck up now
("Caridad Amaro" by Chucho Valdes)
I'm perpetually swamped with work, I seem to have less and less of a clear idea of how to do my job, and other people are making bushels of money. I'm part of an inconceivably vast system of bullshit. The pharmaceutical industry is such a monster. Greed, fear, red tape, hypocrisy, litigiousness, crushing inertia, it has it all. It's drudgery. I'm annoyed. I want to not hate going to work. I've seen it happen in my life, but only occasionally. I should make this a fair and balanced rant, though. Better things than a year or so ago:
-I'm not working at UPS
-I'm not waiting tables at a lame-ass Mexican Restaurant in Yuppie Hell (Cary), NC
-I'm happily married to the woman I crossed the continent to be with
-I live in a house
("Break Away" by John Mayer)
There are always things to be thankful for. However, the recurring need to talk myself out of quitting is troubling to me. I don't want to sedate myself and stop caring about my work. I've tried it before; it doesn't really work. I simply need to rectify the fact that I've landed in a Medical Communications Sweatshop. The knowledge I disseminate to doctors helps people beat cancer. I have to force myself to remember that it's different from hunching over a sewing machine in China. It is, right?
Thursday, December 09, 2004
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2 comments:
I'll try to be brief.
1) There's a reason why work is a four-letter word. People pay you to do something because it sucks. If it didn't suck, they wouldn't pay you.
2) Just the fact that you're not dealing with the general public anymore has got to be a huge bonus.
3) It is far, far too early to quit this job.
4) Always keep your eyes and ears open for other opportunities.
5) Be thankful you have opportunities to fuck up- it means you're doing something.
6) You cite themes that are universal: perpetually swamped? check. No clear idea of how to do my job? yup. Other people making piles of money? same here. Vast system of bullshit? yes, it truly is vast. Drudgery? check.
Stick with it, give it your best, keep looking.
1. Welcome to the wonderful world of reality.
2. No matter where you go, there will always be people making more money than you. And chances are, some of them might also be assholes.
3. Do you know how long it was before Tim and I had disposable income we could hose around after getting married and buying a house, and both working full time? YEARS.
4. They call it work because it ain't supposed to be fun. You put in your day, go home, and then have your fun. Make weekend plans. Have something to look forward to.
5. In my darkest hours of despair at work, I decided to go back to school. It provided an instant distraction and helped immensely, because it was a potential way out of the place I was in.
6. Coworkers are sometimes the only reason I can bring myself to show up for work. Make some friends there you can commiserate with.
7. Find a volunteer opportunity nearby. You'll get instant gratification from helping someone, and meet more local people.
8. Get over people not having any clue what you do. I'm not a nurse. I'm not a doctor. Therefore I am nothing. And I speak lab-ese, which no one but my inner circle understands. Yet in my heart of hearts, I know I do good service to my field, and provide needed information. Even if the nurses completely muck things up.
9. Ditto to everything Scott wrote.
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