De profundis

I can’t get away from it; this job is the pits.

Maybe my problem is just that I am inherently lazy.  Maybe I am one of those people that don’t particularly like work and seek to skive off at every available opportunity?

I’m sure both of these views could be quite easily appended to me.  It’s always been difficult to get me to do things that I don’t want to do; I have always been stubborn, obstinate even and I have long loathed being told what to do by other people – which might just label me as plain arrogant.

Arrogant I may be, but it frustrates me on a daily basis when I see people doing things that I know I could do better, more efficiently, with more flair and better ideas.  But it just seems that I am never going to get the opportunity to do this.

I am trying desperately to get to the six-month mark in this job, so that I can then say I have given it fair trial and am not enjoying it, but I don’t know how I am going to manage it.  At the moment, I have to literally force myself to do the things that are being asked of me as I have so little interest I can barely be bothered.

This morning I even woke before the alarm with the dread feeling that I am going to have to come here and waste another eight hours of my life doing things that will not change anything.

Quick, start the mantra again, list the advantages:

I don’t have to drive over one hundred miles a day, which was tiring and expensive (but to get another reasonable job I might have to considering getting on this treadmill again)

I’m only a short bus ride from work and the travelling costs me nothing

I can start early – and therefore leave early

I’m earning slightly more money than I did before.

Now I’m fighting to find another good point; every time I manage to think of something advantageous I’m battered by the thoughts that my proactive, dynamic nature is becoming eroded bit by bit by a continuous stream of bean-counting and a lack of responsibility.

It’s a beautiful day today; the sky is clear above me and the seagulls are calling, echoing across the station yard which is over the wall in front of me. It sounds like being at the seaside; something I’ve still not got used to away from my land-locked existence.

But all I can see is brick walls within and without.  I’m depressed and I can’t see a logical way forward other than yet again counting off the hours.

Someone, somewhere must want what I can offer.  Or is it time to admit defeat?

That irritating pop song “things can only get better” has just jumped into my head.  I hope it’s a helpful message from Fred and not just him taking the pee