It suddenly dawned on me today that one of the reasons I hate the current incarnation of my job (which I keep trying to muddle my way through in the hopes that the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t, in fact, the proverbial misidentified train) is that there’s no longer any sense of accomplishment.
When I was the “shipping department”, I saw orders go out the door (I got to spend all day yesterday getting the store caught up on shipping, which likely is why this all comes to mind today). When I was re-cataloguing the inventory, I’d complete sections. Now, I get to sit around and watch the vast majority of stuff I’m told to put up on eBay fail miserably. So that’s what my job’s become: A daily routine of failure.
The relevant timeframe, from the start of this new incarnation of my job until today, is roughly the same time during which I’ve let myself lose control of other things. Like, say, housework.
For some moronic reason, I’m letting the daily routine of failure which my job has become infect other parts of my life.
That’s not meant, for what it’s worth, as an “oh, woe is me” — it’s meant as a “what the fuck am I doing”.
