I don’t think a regular joe 9 to 5 gig is for me. I just can’t anymore. Sorry.
I know I’m not the only one who feels this way about their job. According to one newspaper, roughly 80% of Americans are unhappy at their job (though according to Forbes it’s a little more than half). Another, survey shows more than half of Americans (who answered the survey) feel disengaged at work. Disengaged is just a more bussiness-y way to say workers feel like they are sleepwalking. However you slice this unhappy pizza, it can be said for sure that many (in the U.S.) aren’t happy at their jobs. So I recognize this is not a mind altering revelation. Hell, complaining about one’s job is almost as American as apple pie, football and thoughts and prayers without action.
But here’s the catch, I’m not writing to complain about my job. I appreciate and recognize how lucky I am to be employed right now. I acknowledge my current job provides myself and the goddess with a stable income during these Pandemic-monium times. However, that doesn’t stop me from seeing that this job creates certain levels of metaphorical claustrophobia that’s slowly slithering around my heart and quietly turning the poetry I hear in my brain into a flat, static sound.
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