Thursday, July 21, 2005
(11:15 PM) | Anonymous:
A good lil' worker bee.
Today, while at work, I received a phone call from an unknown number. Because I'm daring I answered the phone and was glad to hear that it was the owner of a bookstore that interviewed me last Friday. She offered me the job, as well she should have. I'm surprised it took her and the other so long to call me (nearly a week!), but I know, deep down, that it was all for show. They had to make it look like they were looking even though they knew I was the love of their lives.So, what's this mean for me? I'll be working somewhere between 50-60 hours a week. I've done this before in my life, shortly after Hayley and I were first married I had two horrible jobs pulling down 7/hr. at both. It paid the bills until she needed a cat and we ate too much at restaurants.
I digress. This is very good because I have a lot of credit card debt, somewhere around £1,500 (which is like $3,000) and even more debt if you count this damn computer from Dell (who totally fucked me over). So, I need to pay that off and I can with two jobs. Further, I can save up a bunch for England. The bad news is this will cut into my life. I won't have the freedom to go out of town, but I never do that anyway. Though I will still have the nights to drink and be with my friends I will have to work Friday, Saturday and Sunday - no denying that this sucks. I also won't be blogging much, but as I don't do that much anyway that's no big deal. I just use the fact that Adam has so many fans to get three people to read my grammatically flawed shit. What bothers me is that I won't have as much time to be in my house. I love being at home with all seven of the animals (and Adam). That's when I read and until I discouraged myself that is also when I did my French. I won't have as much time for reading or doing French, because I'll be saving up time to do that in England.
This is, after all, merely a means to an end. I hate work, at least the commonly accepted definition of work where you go and beg someone to pay you money to perform tasks that any monkey could be taught to perform so you end up being bored and wanting to kill yourself for anywhere from six to eight hours of your day. If that's work then I hate it. So I've never felt duty bound to work, merely enslaved to those needs that work offers solutions to. At least this job will have walls upon walls of books for its setting.
On a completely unrelated note you really need to listen to this radio show.
