Whenever I consider my life’s career trajectories, I consider driving an old Japanese sword into my gut and watching the entrails spill out as my brain tells me to die. Or, maybe I should just get a good old double-edged not always so safety razor blade and commence to some teenage cutting.
Point is, I worked some extra time at work today. Which meant I skipped the gym. Riding my bike is like a distant memory. Too many hours to clock.
I also worried about teaching some other folk on how to do some work stuff, so I wouldn’t have to do it. I also checked over someone else’s work, because it just seemed damn unlikely they would proofread on their own. Then, I helped the boss with some fun spreadsheet budgety things.
The retarded came in later–when I had to meet with consultants and tell them what I do for a living, while they showed me a job description for a position where I helped write the goddamn piece of paper in front of me and interviewed the person who got the job. And, I’m helping to train the person. Um, yeah, arguably that’s not my job on the little piece of paper.
If you start a conversation with the most minimal of shit, you will always sound like a self-aggrandizing asshole if you try to set it straight. “Um yeah, nice consultant people, I wish that were my job.”
So, why again did I work that extra bit tonight? Fuck me and my stupid work ethic.