complaining

I'm going to complain. You saw the post title so its not like I didn't warn you.

I looked at the schedule for work tomorrow and my spirits plummeted. I know I'm getting paid, (thus the entire point of being there), but inactivity exhausts me. When I spend 6 of the 7 hours I'm there sitting in a spinning office chair wondering if I'm dead or alive ... or maybe I'm just in a coma as I'm slowly spinning, tapping my tennis shoes on the floor. I feel like I'm wasting my life. I'm not helping anyone, I'm just in it for the money. Weren't we taught that it was a sign of bad character just to be in something for the money?

Its so hard to stay and not jump out. I have good reasons to stay; quite often I recite them to myself as I stare at the white office wall wondering what it would feel like to fling myself against it.

Maybe I have a disorder? Something that makes it harder for me to accept reality? Everyone else understands that going to work that you hate is natural. Did I miss the memo?

Work = cage = death of soul.

I hope tomorrow is better. But Josh won't even be there this time so I don't have much hope.

P.s. even my feet are caged inside of the thing I abhor: shoes.