The Vent is Jammed ... Oh Wait, Here it Goes
I feel like I've been in kind of a rut lately, which is the destiny all you soon-to-be college graduates will eventually fall into.
I'm getting really fucking sick of waking up at 5:20 every morning. That's not to say that I was ever not sick of it, because it has always been my least favorite thing about my life. It's been almost a year (sickening, I know) since I left BU and got a job, and these early morning hours are still killing me. During the week, I am a zombie. Literally. I chase down women in the street and feast on their fucking brains. Their gore drips down my shirt and onto my bloated belly, but I don't give a fuck because I'm the walking undead. I go to sleep at 10 o'clock every weeknight, forsaking the 1,000,001 awesome things going on in this city on any given eve. In the morning I feel my soul crushed by the sounds of Hot 97 summoning me to another day of mind-numbing zombiedom. Even though I get out of work at 2:30 p.m., I can't do anything during the afternoon because I am so goddamned tired.
Still, I got a nice bump in morale when -- about three weeks ago -- my schedule moved from Tuesday-Saturday to Monday-Friday. It was almost like I became a real person. But guess what? The girl who took over my Saturday has already quit, meaning I will now revert back to my old schedule until someone new is hired and trained. Say goodbye, weekend trips to Miami and Boston.
My third strike is my skin condition, originally thought to be a rash but semi-recently diagnosed as hives. I don't know why they're on me and I don't know why they won't go away. I don't know why they didn't call. It's now the third week of hives, and I have a third doctor's appointment (up by Columbia) on Monday. This whole thing is probably a result of my depleted immune system, which is a result of my inactivity, which is a result of said work hours.
And another thing about the job, because everyone loves to hear about someone bitching about their job. I'm sick of my job, which is filled with hours of boredom each day. I have lost confidence in every single one of the skills I picked up and honed during my journalism education. I have not written anything journalism-y since I left college, and I doubt I can even do it anymore. Honestly, I'm even scared to try. When I got my job, one of my bosses (who's a crazy alcoholic, but that's another story) told me that he thought I was very cocky when it came to what I thought my abilities were, and he liked that. Now, all I feel is defeat and an utter lack of confidence. I would love to move into a print journalism job -- any print journalism job -- just to get back into the swing of things, but I cannot find one. If you didn't already know, New York is filled with you, 100,000 people like you, 50,000 people like you but better, and 25,000 people like you, better, and with an uncle who knows somebody. Oh, and they're all assholes. I could try to move to another department at CBS, but that's way easier said than done. First of all, I don't even want to work in TV. Plus, if I moved to an entry level job in another department, the job would be less pay with less responsibilities than I have now, which is essentially none to begin with. So I'm stuck, basically.
Tonight I spoke to my mom on the phone, telling her how frustrated I am with everything. She asked me about moving on to a different CBS gig, and I told her about the soul-crushing set-up in place there, which is so retarded that I don't even want to get into it. To get anything other than a going-nowhere job, you need to have like a million years of network experience. She was giving me the old parent pep talk, telling me that I need to apply for every job that opens up, even if I lack the qualifications/experience/etc. I was trying to tell her about the stifling nature of CBS, but she really wouldn't have any of it. She just kept banging the drum on the "go get 'em, tiger!" philosophy. She had the optimism that I wish I had...that I wish I had the energy to have. I probably did have something like that level of optimism once, but now all I have is a fat gut, a wasted brain, a senior citizen's schedule and a city at my fingertips that I'm too sleepy to see.
I'm getting really fucking sick of waking up at 5:20 every morning. That's not to say that I was ever not sick of it, because it has always been my least favorite thing about my life. It's been almost a year (sickening, I know) since I left BU and got a job, and these early morning hours are still killing me. During the week, I am a zombie. Literally. I chase down women in the street and feast on their fucking brains. Their gore drips down my shirt and onto my bloated belly, but I don't give a fuck because I'm the walking undead. I go to sleep at 10 o'clock every weeknight, forsaking the 1,000,001 awesome things going on in this city on any given eve. In the morning I feel my soul crushed by the sounds of Hot 97 summoning me to another day of mind-numbing zombiedom. Even though I get out of work at 2:30 p.m., I can't do anything during the afternoon because I am so goddamned tired.
Still, I got a nice bump in morale when -- about three weeks ago -- my schedule moved from Tuesday-Saturday to Monday-Friday. It was almost like I became a real person. But guess what? The girl who took over my Saturday has already quit, meaning I will now revert back to my old schedule until someone new is hired and trained. Say goodbye, weekend trips to Miami and Boston.
My third strike is my skin condition, originally thought to be a rash but semi-recently diagnosed as hives. I don't know why they're on me and I don't know why they won't go away. I don't know why they didn't call. It's now the third week of hives, and I have a third doctor's appointment (up by Columbia) on Monday. This whole thing is probably a result of my depleted immune system, which is a result of my inactivity, which is a result of said work hours.
And another thing about the job, because everyone loves to hear about someone bitching about their job. I'm sick of my job, which is filled with hours of boredom each day. I have lost confidence in every single one of the skills I picked up and honed during my journalism education. I have not written anything journalism-y since I left college, and I doubt I can even do it anymore. Honestly, I'm even scared to try. When I got my job, one of my bosses (who's a crazy alcoholic, but that's another story) told me that he thought I was very cocky when it came to what I thought my abilities were, and he liked that. Now, all I feel is defeat and an utter lack of confidence. I would love to move into a print journalism job -- any print journalism job -- just to get back into the swing of things, but I cannot find one. If you didn't already know, New York is filled with you, 100,000 people like you, 50,000 people like you but better, and 25,000 people like you, better, and with an uncle who knows somebody. Oh, and they're all assholes. I could try to move to another department at CBS, but that's way easier said than done. First of all, I don't even want to work in TV. Plus, if I moved to an entry level job in another department, the job would be less pay with less responsibilities than I have now, which is essentially none to begin with. So I'm stuck, basically.
Tonight I spoke to my mom on the phone, telling her how frustrated I am with everything. She asked me about moving on to a different CBS gig, and I told her about the soul-crushing set-up in place there, which is so retarded that I don't even want to get into it. To get anything other than a going-nowhere job, you need to have like a million years of network experience. She was giving me the old parent pep talk, telling me that I need to apply for every job that opens up, even if I lack the qualifications/experience/etc. I was trying to tell her about the stifling nature of CBS, but she really wouldn't have any of it. She just kept banging the drum on the "go get 'em, tiger!" philosophy. She had the optimism that I wish I had...that I wish I had the energy to have. I probably did have something like that level of optimism once, but now all I have is a fat gut, a wasted brain, a senior citizen's schedule and a city at my fingertips that I'm too sleepy to see.