Things I Do When I'm Not Working
To escape from having to work on the house (and I mean sawing, lifting, nailing, sweating - not vacuuming, dusting, and other normal house activities) I decided back in October to take up some scheduled activities. I started playing my horn again in a community orchestra, I started taking Spanish classes, and during tax seasons I prepare returns for poor people (who, frankly, all make more than I do, which tends to dampen my warm fuzzy community service feeling.)
That was all great while I was unemployed, or worse still, when I was trying to be a real estate agent and did less than nothing all day. But now that I slave away for eight and a half hours a day, nearly half of which are pre-dawn, or might as well be, I've been kind of resenting having to come home and then leave again right away almost every day.
I know the alternative would be hauling boards and bags of trash up and down the stairs - clearly much more horrible - but I only know that in a vague theoretical way. My brain insists that if I quit band, I would get to come home from work, put on a sweatsuit, eat bonbons, and watch trashy tv.
Actually, now that I think of it, that's essentially what my job is like, except we can only watch tv on breaks and at lunch. (Today at lunch, for instance, we watched a "news" story captioned "Surpise...porn!") People seriously come in to work every day looking like they're wearing their pjs (or worse) and god knows we all consume our own weight in communal candy every week. It's your basic ideal situation.
Maybe what I actually want is to be at work all the time. Yes, that's right, I want to live at work. At work, I get free candy, subsidized meals that I don't have to cook myself, and endless supply of trashy gossip in the form of people's nasty-divorce-filled tax returns, free heat & hot water, someone else to clean the bathrooms, high security, and no responsibilities beyond the basic moral code, and even that is flexible. I don't even have a phone or internet access, so I'm completely unreachable to creditors, family, and the rest of the worst of humanity while I'm there. Plus after 8 hours you're on overtime, so I'd be raking in the cash.
Sick dream, non?
That was all great while I was unemployed, or worse still, when I was trying to be a real estate agent and did less than nothing all day. But now that I slave away for eight and a half hours a day, nearly half of which are pre-dawn, or might as well be, I've been kind of resenting having to come home and then leave again right away almost every day.
I know the alternative would be hauling boards and bags of trash up and down the stairs - clearly much more horrible - but I only know that in a vague theoretical way. My brain insists that if I quit band, I would get to come home from work, put on a sweatsuit, eat bonbons, and watch trashy tv.
Actually, now that I think of it, that's essentially what my job is like, except we can only watch tv on breaks and at lunch. (Today at lunch, for instance, we watched a "news" story captioned "Surpise...porn!") People seriously come in to work every day looking like they're wearing their pjs (or worse) and god knows we all consume our own weight in communal candy every week. It's your basic ideal situation.
Maybe what I actually want is to be at work all the time. Yes, that's right, I want to live at work. At work, I get free candy, subsidized meals that I don't have to cook myself, and endless supply of trashy gossip in the form of people's nasty-divorce-filled tax returns, free heat & hot water, someone else to clean the bathrooms, high security, and no responsibilities beyond the basic moral code, and even that is flexible. I don't even have a phone or internet access, so I'm completely unreachable to creditors, family, and the rest of the worst of humanity while I'm there. Plus after 8 hours you're on overtime, so I'd be raking in the cash.
Sick dream, non?
Labels: i have a life?
posted by feithline @ 6:11 PM
1 Comments:
At 3:23 PM,
Anonymous said…
Hey feithline, will you prepare my tax return? I am pretty sure you make more than I do, so you will be doing me a favor and it will make you feel better. :) JK. Anyway, I often have fantasies of going away where I cannot be reached by phone or e-mail. The IRS sounds pimp. haha.
K
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