Work
Today at work, it occurred to me: I am too good for this. I usually don't have very much faith in my abilities, but today, for whatever reason, I realized I am too fucking talented to waste my time with this place.
I should be writing and directing full time. I should be spending my time writing and trying to get produced and published. I should be spending my days in workshops and rehearsal, not at this fucking desk.
Of course, that's the goal I'm working toward, and I've always known that. But today, I really feel like this "day job" thing is just... more harm than good. Yes, it's paying the bills, but... at what cost?
Maybe it's because my boss pissed me off today, maybe it's because she's a crazy person. Maybe it's because someone actually bought one of my plays. Maybe it's because I have two months' rent in my bank account, and by the end of the month, I will have three times as much, and I just feel like, fuck, you know? That's six months I could spend writing.
For whatever reason, I can't come up with a single good answer to that eternal question, What the fuck am I doing here?
In two weeks, if my feelings haven't changed, I might give my two weeks' notice. And then, I will have approximately six months before I have to start freaking out and looking for another shitty, sell-out day job again.
I should be writing and directing full time. I should be spending my time writing and trying to get produced and published. I should be spending my days in workshops and rehearsal, not at this fucking desk.
Of course, that's the goal I'm working toward, and I've always known that. But today, I really feel like this "day job" thing is just... more harm than good. Yes, it's paying the bills, but... at what cost?
Maybe it's because my boss pissed me off today, maybe it's because she's a crazy person. Maybe it's because someone actually bought one of my plays. Maybe it's because I have two months' rent in my bank account, and by the end of the month, I will have three times as much, and I just feel like, fuck, you know? That's six months I could spend writing.
For whatever reason, I can't come up with a single good answer to that eternal question, What the fuck am I doing here?
In two weeks, if my feelings haven't changed, I might give my two weeks' notice. And then, I will have approximately six months before I have to start freaking out and looking for another shitty, sell-out day job again.
On a Scale from 1 to Bitter: My Rage Gives Me Power.
1-800-Bitterness.com Radio: Green Day - Minority
1-800-Bitterness.com Reading List: The Fuck-Up by Arthur Nersesian
1-800-Bitterness.com Radio: Green Day - Minority
1-800-Bitterness.com Reading List: The Fuck-Up by Arthur Nersesian
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