I hate my job. Of course, I’m not supposed to say that. I’m supposed to feel accomplished to be young and employed and have benefits in this economic environment.
My life is a series of boxes on an assembly line. Today is just another box on my calendar. Every day, I shuffle between a city apartment and an office cube, typing into rectangles, sending papers, signing papers, filing papers. What I do is not important. That’s the problem. I know I get paid a lot of money for it… Don’t get me wrong but I feel very unimportant in the world. I’m a mindless office drone to the T.
Employment data for people my age is grim at best. Work-seekers between the ages of 20 and 24 faces an ugly 15% unemployment rate by the end of 2015 and it’s only getting bleaker for our generation. Comparing my situation to the general plight of my age group makes it very hard to complain about my job. I found and kept work through some of the nation’s leanest years this side of the Dust Bowl, which should be good enough to keep me satisfied–but it does not. Why do I seem to want to unattainable of loving what I do? My friends seem to have it and I’m so incredibly jealous of them.
The job situation being this horrible only increases my frustration. I feel a heavy burden to cherish the personally unrewarding job I’m “lucky” enough to have. How can I justify being so disenchanted with a white-collar job when some of my friends have to scratch just to get by? Sure, I have money but I’m not happy. I feel like a brat for wanting to just quit and find my bliss.
This is my life, it doesn’t stop me from watching that Taiwan animation video of the girl quitting almost every day and dreaming it was me.