Perhaps I'm naive. Maybe I'm really an optimist. But deep down, I knew this moment would come. I even thought of killing off this blog as, well, buying New Place and waving goodbye to rented cesspits seemed like some kind of end-of-an-era, but it isn't. It really so fucking absolutely isn't.
The fact remains, as I marched into work this morning, that I don't want to do my job anymore. The new commute has been strangely exciting these last couple of months; catching trains instead of tubes, seeing slight different miserable faces every morning, walking to my desk from a different direction, but it's all largely bollocks ~ fripperies to make me forget that I really don't dig what I do.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not above working for a living. I'm not even sure I'd know what to do if I didn't have to. I couldn't just do nothing after all, but life's gotta be about quality, and getting out what you put in. Yet all my jobs have felt mandatory, shackle-y, rendering them all just a notch above a prison sentence with a pay packet attached.
I guess whatever I used to find rewarding about my job just isn't there anymore. You could teach a chimp to slam its fists into a keyboard and pick up phones and it could do what I do. Probably better, too.
I now despise phones to such a degree that I barely recognise myself. I hate mobiles because the voice on the other end is very rarely clear and unbroken, and unless that voice is coming out of some Amazonian goddess you'd met a few nights earlier, chances are you're going to have a very frustrating conversation. And I hate regular phones too because 9 times out of 10 at my work, it's going to be someone who wants, nay, expects you to drop everything you're doing and start helping them, because THAT'S THE KIND OF JOB I'VE GOT.
I'll be sat at my desk trying to wade through spreadsheets, preparing quotes, invoicing clients and so forth when the phone'll just ring, completely unannounced, totally at random. And you'll have to trust me on this...
... sometimes, when it rings, I can actually feel my heart sink.
And these people, our customers, scoff at the prices I give them.
Or they 'tut' when their goods aren't in, and start asking me difficult questions like, "When will it arrive, then?"
But normally, they'll just place an order and describe items in the vaguest possible terms, meaning I have to back up my spreadsheets, stop working on quotes, and drop invoicing clients because the guy on the other end of the phone wants "what I normally get", forcing me to wade through all their previous orders in a verbal version of pin the tail on the donkey.
And I know I'm in a bad way because I can normally put enough 'chipper' into my voice so they never really know that I want to pick-axe their heads.
But lately it's all I can do to sigh, and grunt in monotone. I can't be bothered to disguise my frustration anymore, to the extent that a couple of customers now refuse to speak to me. My boss has even dropped hints that I look for work 'nearer to home', as if I've moved to the Outer Hebrides or something.
But this is old news. And it scares me. Because I haven't moaned about work in a looong time. I had a completely different post planned, a roller-coasting one with barbecues and South American women and sweating visibly during awkward family situations but instead this happens, and I'm bitching about work.
So please leave a comment if your day job sucks, because if there's one thing I love, it's a whinge shared.