I have not wanted to write here because I'm feeling Grumpy, and at least 5 of the other dwarves, along with their cousin Mopey (who is currently filling in for Happy while he's on vacation somewhere... probably Mexico where I WANT TO BE RIGHT NOW!) This is due to the fact that the headaches I was having a couple of weeks back have returned and I am very, very bored at work.
Not like I have nothing to do at work... I just find it all tedious and meaningless. Bad combination.
BUT I am trying to be upbeat... uh, yeah. No really I am, but it's so difficult when you are stuck in the same place, the same every day, the sameness. Some people really love that. And that's fantastic! It's great... for them. Some people love routine, the comfort of continuity which, you know, is wonderful... sometimes. But mostly I hate it. If it were something I loved to do, or something I felt deeply about well then I imagine it wouldn't be so bad. I don't suppose I'd feel trapped. But this job? This office thing? I feel like I could start screaming just from the same same same same.
I work as a legal secretary. I took some secretarial classes in high school: because they wouldn't let me take the 40 other classes I WANTED to take. My best friend was taking this crap and I just went along. Clearly one of my stupidest mistakes. Okay, I'm glad I can type - that's the only good thing. I am not, nor have I ever been, anyone's vision of the ideal secretary.
I suck at it actually.
So after a full 3 years and 9 days being a permanent employee doing a job that is pretty much my worst nightmare (telephone sales would be my absolute worst... oh wait... I guess it depends on what I was selling; nevermind) I'm .. shall we say... lacking in job satisfaction. It's getting me down, and I hate that I'm allowing something as meaningless as this make me sad.
My father, who was not the most communicative, nor the most insightful fellow told me something shocking maybe a year or so before he died. He said: "You have to love the work you're doing. Life is too short to stay in a job you hate." This from the man who told me, when I said I was going to go to college, "Why? You'll only end up at Taco Bell any way." Yes, the support system was always pretty strong from my parents.
[For more on that sort of thing, presented, I hope, in a humorous fashion, please check my other blog http://briefhistoryofanorphan.blogspot.com/]
The pitiful thing is: I actually loved working at Taco Bell! It helped me pay for a BIG chunk of my last two years of college and it was one of my two top favorite non-theatre-related jobs. It goes without saying that anything I ever did involving performing, whether it paid nothing, $5, or $500, was WONDERFUL. But I really loved working at Taco Bell. It was FUN. Sure there was a 'routine', but it was always a little different and when the pregnant woman with the two-year old would come in every day at 10:00 a.m. for a burrito supreme (she had cravings) I felt like I was doing something ever so slightly IMPORTANT. That woman NEEDED that burrito every day and I loved making it. What do I do now? Oh I file. Yeah, that's making someone happy... I type sometimes... feel the thrill? I'm not DOING anything that gives me any kind of creative or emotional fulfillment. And as odd as it sounds, I did have that at Taco Bell... even if I did have to wear unflattering brown polyester with a matching kerchief while I was doing it.
So my Dad was right. You really do have to do something you love. It's sad he found that out AFTER he retired. I guess I've always sort of known it but never could get it right. But I'm trying. I'm never going to love the job I'm doing now, in fact when I took this job the time frame I gave myself (and the people I work for) was 6 months. I outlasted myself by quite a lot, and no one is more surprised than I. But now it's bad. It's making me unhappy enough that I'm not getting over it when I walk out the door. It's a struggle to go there every morning.
So, in two weeks I'm off to Mexico. And after that... time to do work I love, no matter how little it pays. And if it turns out that I'm never on a stage again, and I never sell my book(s), or screenplay(s) and I end up making burrito supremes for pregnant ladies with cravings for Mexican fast food = well so be it. And then my Dad will have been right twice. And wouldn't that be something?