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feldmanIt's Monday, back in the cube, and a paperclip Don Quixote tilts at the lazily spinning propeller on my beanie. My productivity is directly proportional to the distance from my cube, which I'd always thought was an indication of slacktitude from way back.
I mean, since fourth grade I brought books to school to occupy myself during class when I wasn't writing or drawing or daydreaming. By high school I was up to at least fifteen 1-2 page letters and three novels a week, while carrying a low B by acing tests and rushing through most of my homework in other classes (I had a policy of not bringing work home--home was for *writing*).
Yes, I realize now that I spent the formative years of school learning how to keep my sanity in an SD tank. Armed with self-knowledge, I can now decide to stop replicating this experience.
Actually, it's only been the last few months when I finally let go of the idea that I'm allergic to hard work. I kept up with a full time desk job, 10 credit hours, a demanding preschooler making focused study difficult, and I made a 3.5 GPA this term. Things were hectic, losing two evenings of family time each week was sucky, and I accomplished even less housework than usual (which is a low bar to begin with). My partner took a heavy load of kid and house wrangling to make this happen. I had to do a lot of focused practice in chipping away at assignments instead of plowing through them in one session like the last time I was in college. I could have gotten a 4.0 if I hadn't left some points on the table in Statistics. But I rocked hard in the schoolyard because I've finally honed the diligence and skills to match the brains and drive I had all along.
And I realized that I'm not allergic to hard work. I kinda like busting my own ass and making something happen. The deal is that I'm allergic to stupid work. I'm allergic to work with a high noise to signal ratio of bullshit to accomplishment. I'm sick of staring at microsoft office and strategizing how to cover several asses at once and reassure people scared shitless about making a decision outside of committee. I'm sick of spending more time sedating my brain than using it at work. I'm sick of polishing turds and pretending that operating the buffer is a privilege I need to earn every damned day with a smile.
I daydream about pushing a mop and changing linens in a rehabilitation clinic. I fantasize about internships where I get paid in chicken feed and experience. I contemplate the physical wreckage of moving from a desk job to a standing/walking/lifting job with a sick thrill of excitement.
In related news, apparently chronic boredom at work is more detrimental to your health than classic 'stress'. The hivemind is speaking.
I mean, since fourth grade I brought books to school to occupy myself during class when I wasn't writing or drawing or daydreaming. By high school I was up to at least fifteen 1-2 page letters and three novels a week, while carrying a low B by acing tests and rushing through most of my homework in other classes (I had a policy of not bringing work home--home was for *writing*).
Yes, I realize now that I spent the formative years of school learning how to keep my sanity in an SD tank. Armed with self-knowledge, I can now decide to stop replicating this experience.
Actually, it's only been the last few months when I finally let go of the idea that I'm allergic to hard work. I kept up with a full time desk job, 10 credit hours, a demanding preschooler making focused study difficult, and I made a 3.5 GPA this term. Things were hectic, losing two evenings of family time each week was sucky, and I accomplished even less housework than usual (which is a low bar to begin with). My partner took a heavy load of kid and house wrangling to make this happen. I had to do a lot of focused practice in chipping away at assignments instead of plowing through them in one session like the last time I was in college. I could have gotten a 4.0 if I hadn't left some points on the table in Statistics. But I rocked hard in the schoolyard because I've finally honed the diligence and skills to match the brains and drive I had all along.
And I realized that I'm not allergic to hard work. I kinda like busting my own ass and making something happen. The deal is that I'm allergic to stupid work. I'm allergic to work with a high noise to signal ratio of bullshit to accomplishment. I'm sick of staring at microsoft office and strategizing how to cover several asses at once and reassure people scared shitless about making a decision outside of committee. I'm sick of spending more time sedating my brain than using it at work. I'm sick of polishing turds and pretending that operating the buffer is a privilege I need to earn every damned day with a smile.
I daydream about pushing a mop and changing linens in a rehabilitation clinic. I fantasize about internships where I get paid in chicken feed and experience. I contemplate the physical wreckage of moving from a desk job to a standing/walking/lifting job with a sick thrill of excitement.
In related news, apparently chronic boredom at work is more detrimental to your health than classic 'stress'. The hivemind is speaking.
