Fuck a rut, fuck a duck, I fuck myself and I doubt me, I’m a piece of fucking white trash and I whisper it quietly. Okay so rhyming clearly isn’t my strong suit and I’m not above plagiarizing.
In all honesty or like “for a TBH”, the signs are clear when you’re in a rut and you can go months, weeks and years without even noticing. I think what bothers me the most is that it’s clear to everyone else but yourself, it’s like you live in your own dirty little cave of denial.
It’s been a whole year and I have gone through 5 Jobs – 3 of them were career jobs, at least 7 full on meltdowns, countless minor anxiety attacks and I have smoked enough ciggies to have already developed some kind of tobacco related illness. I’m still no closer to finding my path or “my truth” and reading The Alchemist gave me zero clarity, but it did give me this ambitous idea that I’m here to do something incredible on this earth. So I’m walking around all entitled and shit, the only thing is I’ll probably be fucking dead by the time I find out what my purpose is. Suffice to say I’m feeling a lot like a pretty fucking unbalanced, directionless 27 year old girl. I want to make something very clear though, I have never been fired from one of these jobs. Wellllll… I wasn’t exactly fired from this one pub, but I wasn’t given another shift either. We both kind of just avoided speaking to each other…. so maybe I was fired from one job? I’d prefer to say mutal break up.. neither of us were happy in the relationship. Anyway, I’m fucking Greek so I work like a fucking Trojan, no job is too hard… but I am a fucking martyr (I got it from my Mumma) – we Greeks like to lay on that guilt thick and heavy.
I keep changing jobs because I always think the next place will be better or I need to find what “my heart truly desires “like, what should I do with this one precious life..? Seriously?! LOL!! Like I’m so fucking important!! I have this grandiose idea that I am meant to be doing something incredible with my life, and the worst part about it is that I know that I’m entitled! I do think I’m better than a 9 -5 and where is this so called 9-5 anyway though?!!! More like 9 until your eyes start to bleed and the excel spreadsheet starts to look more like an acid tab, so you’re that one dickhead in the corner office cubicle licking their fucking computer monitor hoping to get off… could be worse i guess, I could be the guy that jacks off in the office toilet watching porn on his phone. Who am I judge, if he gets even one moment of enjoyment in that hell hole then no one should ever be able to take that away from him.
I think the best part about this “9 to 5” is you get to do it all again tomorrow… unless you muster up enough courage to call in a sickie… but then you end up feeling like a guilty dog because you could have gone to work because you are physically able but mentally you could take a fucking machete to work and let rip. So for the rest of the day you don’t leave the house because you might get caught, I mean who fucking knows who’s around the corner?! It could be your boss’ friend’s mother and they might have seen a picture of you… could be worse, you could be that dickhead that pulls a sickie and then pops up a snapchat of themselves at beach forgetting that he’s like tots snap friends with his boss.
So then you turn up to work the next day an anxious fucking mess because you might be found out. You pop on a fake little cough and start acting a little dull and sensitive. Then 20 minutes later you’ve suddenly stopped sniffling and coughing because you have forgotten that you were ACTUALLY fully sick yesterday. And then your boss comments in a condescending tone (but it could be your perception because you are known to be fairly paranoid) saying “you seem like your feeling much better than this morning”. So in your head you think “she is having a fucking dig isn’t she?” and inside you start to bubble up. So you get defensive and think “like they’ve never pulled a sickie in their fucking life. Get off your high horse CUNT!!” but what you say back to her is “yeah, I know… it’s always the worst in the mornings, I’m starting to feel so much better thank you”. You walk away knowing you’re a boss and you fucking nailed that reply and she’s a bitter bitch and will die alone (maybe that’s not the worst thing that could happen to her really). But the actual worst part about the sickie you took yesterday is the fact you will probably have to stay back until fucking 9pm tonight because you have soooooo much fucking work to catch up on and your basically a glorified butt bitch in your role because you’re like totally working your way up.
Started from the bottom now we here… or more like, we ain’t ever gonna leave.